


Disheartened

by mandalora



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Daud-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, Past Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin, Slash, Translation into English, a bit of femslash, no sex here, partial crossover with Dragon Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-01-06 13:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18389393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandalora/pseuds/mandalora
Summary: Daud completely ceases to understand anything in these political schemes: first, frame the Lord Protector, then, rescue the Lord Protector. It seems like a great way to fix the worst mistake of his life, only, how, if the one person capable of helping him has no care for this world anymore?Translation from Russian into English





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheRisingValkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRisingValkyrie/gifts).
  * A translation of [Disheartened](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564567) by [TheRisingValkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRisingValkyrie/pseuds/TheRisingValkyrie). 



> Partial crossover with Dragon Age. Lots of people are tied with the Void in one way or another; having the Outsider’s mark isn’t necessary for that. The Overseers, of course, aren’t happy about this, hence the existence of the Rite of Tranquility. Severing a person from the Void comes with known side effects: loss of feelings, emotions, wishes, dreams, and ambitions.  
> Instead of being executed, Corvo is made Tranquil. 
> 
> Much OOC for everything and everyone, but 1) what are you gonna do to me, I live in a different city; 2) in the first Dishonored Corvo’s personality is literally nonexistent; 3) I do what I want.
> 
> *Very faint Delilah/Billie in the background.
> 
> https://twitter.com/Stern_Ritter_U/status/1088440843424489472 - better than any description. 
> 
> This work is published here, as well: https://ficbook.net/readfic/7770421/19913582

  
   

       **Corvo**    

  
   

With an effort, Corvo forced himself to open his eyes.

He felt sick. From the pain, the hunger, and everything that was happening overall. Corvo lost all sense of time long ago—he was never let out into the prison yard. There was a lattice window in his cell but it faced the scaffold, so Corvo tried not to look out of it much. He’s seen his fair share of firing squads in the half-year of his being here. Stale damp smell forever ingrained itself into his mutilated skin and torn hair, Corvo was sure. 

His connection to the Void wasn’t nearly enough to serve as an escape. He remembered how the Overseers shifted their tones and lowered their voices to induce fear whenever they told about those whom the Outsider would mark with his depraved touch, making their ties with the Void grow so strong they became capable of much that regular man wasn’t.

Corvo has never thought about the god from the Void in any seriousness, but now, in such a disastrous and desperate state, he thought about him constantly. The Overseers told many frightening things about the Outsider, but from the few he’s met that were tied with the Void he heard that the Outsider was a kind god, that one could ask him for protection and patronage, and he might even reply. Reply and help in earnest, not in the way the Overseers did with their ephemeral tales of salvation in the Strictures.

Whenever the torturers left Corvo be, just so they could resume their work on the next day, he’d close his pained inflamed eyes and try to call out to the Outsider. Corvo didn’t know how to do it correctly, and, perhaps, that was why the Outsider never answered his calls.

Corvo simply tried to grasp at any thread of hope that would let him hold out for just one more day. 

He was so tired. 

One single thought was ingrown in his brain, one that was always with him and always stayed clear and crisp: don’t give the torturers what they want. Don’t agree with the accusations, even though that came harder and harder each day. Retain honor in the face of the paramount goal, even if he died here.

Of course, he didn’t want to die.

Corvo escaped into thoughts of his daughter. He had no idea what happened to Emily or where she was, so he often asked the Outsider specifically about her. He forbade himself to think about Jessamine, though often couldn’t help himself and let his mind return to her again and again. He‘d close his eyes and mentally carry over to her bedroom, feel her ghostlike touches and catch her smile, and then, opening his eyes, choked on the horror of the simple realization: it will never be. Nothing else will ever be. They buried her, and the people of the Empire were positive that her very Lord Protector became her murderer. 

Rage arose in Corvo at the mere thought of it. Every time he felt he had no more strength for it, and every time it flared up in a fire and burned on the inside to the point where the inactivity was painful. 

Maybe, that rage also helped him to hold on to his sanity, to grasp at dumb hope that everything could still change, could still turn for the better. 

If the Outsider wills it, Corvo would add in his mind, hoping that that would make the god turn his gaze onto his miserable existence.

Clearly, that still wasn’t enough, and Corvo was left to choke on despair and hopelessness. He was climbing the walls, wanted to scream, to thrash, to grind down his nails and skin on rough stone.

Instead of all that he lay still, taking solace in the rare moment of peace between waking, a meager breakfast, and yet another torture session.

Corvo heard footsteps in the hallway and stilled his breath, as if that would turn him invisible and transport him someplace far away. He shut his eyelids tight, but the childish hiding method has long since stopped working. He pictured the safe warm bedroom around himself, and suddenly the sensations turned so real that for a moment he lost himself amidst dream and reality. That kind of thing has happened to him before; Corvo’s dreams have always been so believably vivid, his sleeping consciousness would open up to the Void and it would flow through him like a steady river.

Here, in the grayness and pain and despair, he felt it especially strongly. Fleeing from the clammy reality where filthy traitors tried to pull the confession of regicide out of him, Corvo tried to escape in the Void, only, his connection was too weak. He could feel it—by sound he’d found charms and runes strewn around the city, a couple times he’d come upon shrines with a large portrait of the Outsider at one of them, and at that moment Corvo had felt a visceral flutter from the realization that the god from the Void was real.

He visualized such a shrine now: purple drapes, small haywire wooden table made of whatever had turned up nearby, barbed wire, several lanterns of unearthly light and a rune which ringing made your teeth hurt.

Keys rattled with a loud sound and a crude call made him open his eyes, tearing him out of his private paradise in the backwoods of consciousness. Corvo would rather listen to a thousand songs of runes than this. He heaved a sigh and stood up, his body immediately responding with pain: all the disturbed burns, wounds and bruises. Corvo rubbed his wrists, abraded by handcuffs and heavy fetters used to bind him to the torture chair, threw a glance over the three glum tired guards and one Overseer with a music box, and to a barked “Move it!” approached one of the men. He turned his back towards them to let them hang the heavy braces on his wrists.

With each new day the handcuffs seemed to grow heavier.

Through the familiar hallways Corvo was led to the interrogation room.

Corvo thought he was difficult to scare with anything by this point, but he saw High Overseer Campbell, Burrows, and a small batch of Overseers who quietly lined the walls with their faces hidden beneath the masks. Many of them held music boxes, and Corvo felt a slither of cold down his spine. Campbell and Burrows visited rarely, but, clearly, there were more Overseers gathered here than usual.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t find out about your connection to the Void?” the Lord Regent said without preludes, the gleam in his eyes expressing nothing good, and Corvo’s throat tightened. He side-eyed the Overseers, feeling his hands being released from the handcuffs just so he could immediately be shackled to the torture chair that was by now soaked through with his blood, sweat, and tears. “There have always been rumors about it at court,” Burrows continued. Campbell, for some reason, was silent and stood behind him like a grim shadow, hands folded behind his back as if this entire contrivance didn’t please him much. “Serkonos has always been notorious for its sects.” 

At the mention of his far away, half-forgotten homeland Corvo felt a chill at his back.

He understood where they were going with this.

They won’t execute him, they’ll do worse. They’ll strip him of the Void, make him into a doll with no will and then force him to sign the confession.

His heart pounded somewhere in the throat, fists clenched against his will and Corvo helplessly thrashed out in the iron fetters. He’d cry out if he could, but pleading was useless, and humiliating himself before this traitor filth was too much. 

His honor was already downtrodden and dragged through mud, and there he was, still trying to grasp at something.

Corvo has never owned a shrine, only once did he touch a forbidden rune and never did he possess any bonecharms. He never prayed to the Outsider before being thrown into prison, and the Outsider never even answered his calls. Corvo suddenly felt a helpless malice but it disappeared in an instant: being angry at the god was just as pointless as hoping. 

Of course, there were rumors.

First ever Lord Protector not from Gristol—just that fact brought out disapproval and wonder at court. A Royal Protector from Serkonos, the isle where the Abbey couldn’t possibly contain the followings of the Outsider, just sparked more gossip.

Corvo thought back to the assassins with hidden faces whom the traitors had hired to carry out Jessamine’s murder: clearly, they possessed inhuman powers and were most likely tied with the Void, and much stronger than Corvo.

“How ironic that the first Lord Protector not native to Gristol turns out to be not only a murderer, but also a follower of the Outsider.”

Corvo stared back with poorly contained rage. None of this was true, obviously, but he was sure the traitors could have had no difficulty in slipping a few runes and bonecharms into his bedroom. Or even put up a shrine somewhere on the side. Whatever he’d say wouldn’t change a thing, but would only humiliate him further.

“You’re fully aware what ties with the Void lead to,” Burrows said, clearly relishing his victory.

Corvo shot a wild deadbeat glance at the Overseers by the walls who suddenly moved at some unspoken order. It was likely that among their ranks were also those whose connection to the Void has been severed. Those without a dependency on the Void as well as all the lusts this world offered, made, he supposed, ideal Overseers. 

Corvo powerlessly closed his eyes and turned away as far as the fetters let him, breathing slow and deep but with an effort, with difficulty, and the arisen panic in his chest demanded he flee at once. He’d gladly cave in to the urge if he wasn’t restrained.

Once more he thought of Emily and, while he could still feel, tried to imprint in his mind the fear for her fate and the yearning he felt, as well as just how much he loved her.

  
   

*** 

  
   

Corvo opened his eyes.

His body hurt. He knew why: the interrogations weren’t for naught. Corvo inhaled deeply and found how easily breathing came, not at all how it had been just a day ago, when he was still choking on despair.

Now, all that was left from that despair were mere memories of what it was. How it felt, Corvo wasn’t sure anymore and would never find out, and that thought seemed gratifying. Corvo blinked, looking around the cell where they left him. It was the same as yesterday. He lay for a bit longer, feeling somewhat lost and hollow, but soon got used to the sensation and stood up. He found food by the door and ate without needless delay. Just like in the previous months, the meal was tasteless. 

Afterwards, he sat down on the uncomfortable cot and folded his hands in his lap. What could one do in a prison cell? He decided to simply wait for someone to get him, surely, someone would come after putting him through the Rite of Tranquility. Probably. Corvo didn’t know for sure, he’s never interacted with the Tranquil before as there were no such people at court aside from when the Overseers were present, and the latter he was never closely affiliated with, either. Prior to ending up in prison, that was. 

Soon, they came for him. This time it was just one Overseer and one guard. The Overseer gazed through the mask, calm and indifferent, and Corvo thought, perhaps, he was also Tranquil. The guard looked on with wariness. Corvo paid him no mind. 

They didn’t bind his hands. They brought him into the interrogation room, sat him down in the familiar chair, but didn’t restrain him, either. He calmly folded his hands in his lap and slid his gaze over the guests.

One of the Overseers handed him a mirror. He hasn’t seen himself in a long time and could now easily make out the differences: he went haggard, was very pale, and his face has gathered more creases. On the forehead loomed the brand of Tranquility: the same symbol was worn on their masks by the Overseers. Corvo returned the mirror and fixed his gaze on Campbell and Burrows.

Campbell approached, carefully looked him over and uttered,

“Sign the confession, Corvo.”

Corvo replied, 

“No.”

Burrows stared at him in something of a terror. He parted his lips, then stared at Campbell in surprise; the latter turned to the Lord Regent and grimly, with a weight in his voice, said, 

“I told you that Tranquillity was useless!”

“Why not, Corvo?” Burrows collected himself, and Corvo simply replied,

“Because I didn’t do it.”

Burrows flared up in an instant, his face went splotched with red, and he clenched his fists.

“I told you…” Campbell repeated glumly. He sighed and turned to Corvo once more, seemingly having decided something to himself. 

“Executing him now will be pointless,” he said, “besides, the Abbey doesn’t put down the Tranquil.”

“In that case, why not just leave him?” Burrows perked up right then. They were discussing their plans right in front of Corvo without a care in the world; in the past, that would have alarmed and surprised him, but now he was indifferent to it. Telling someone else was pointless. And there was no one to tell. “As an example of how even the higher class can grow infested with such… heresy.”

Campbell brightened up, the idea clearly pleased him. Perhaps, he thought it a pity that tranquilizing those without a connection to the Void was forbidden; he’d have solved so many of his problems otherwise. Corvo passingly pondered this, as their discussion didn’t bring him any useful information.

Soon, Corvo was led back to his cell and left there. He didn’t dream that night, just as he wouldn’t see any dreams in any of the nights that awaited him.

Corvo could remember what the nightmares were like and the wretched state they would leave him in, so his current condition seemed to him a benediction.

  
   

       **Daud**    

  
   

The Outsider was aggravated: Daud felt it in the electrified air he was breathing. Somewhere in the distance the sea rumbled with thunder. The sky grew heavy, blackened with smoke, and a coolness slithered from the direction of the water. Daud has never felt the Outsider’s anger before. He’d been sure that the god wasn’t capable of such. The Outsider was never irked by any of Daud’s deeds, never judged him, no matter what he did. Once in a while, he’d only comment with a viperine smirk, but there was never any real malice hidden behind it. 

What happened now? 

Daud rubbed his mark through the glove, but that didn’t bring him any answers. 

He turned away from the restless sea, still guessing what could have upset the Outsider so, and quickly went up onto the roofs that grew only taller the farther they stood from the shoreline. Being on higher ground felt safer; Daud wasn’t in a hurry on his way to the appointed meeting point, even though his heart pounded in his throat and his hands grew cold. Daud thought he’s long since forgotten how to feel anxiety, but this here was exactly that. It kept him from breathing fully, weighed down his chest, but at least his fingers didn’t tremble—that would have been humiliating to no end. 

As if he could be dragged even lower before himself.

It was quiet, as it usually was in the destitute districts on this side of the river. Daud transversed onto yet another roof, when an announcement on the loudspeaker bellowed somewhere in the distance. Daud halted, listening in.

**_ATTENTION DUNWALL CITIZENS: THE ASSASSIN CORVO, RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MURDER OF OUR BELOVED EMPRESS AND THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY EMILY, HEIR TO THE THRONE, HAS BEEN SUBJECTED TO THE RITE OF TRANQUILITY INSTEAD OF EXECUTION. THE DECISION WAS MADE IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE ABBEY OF THE EVERYMAN, AS SUCH IS THE FATE THAT AWAITS ALL HERETICS._ **

Daud definitely knew: Corvo didn’t bear the mark of the Outsider. He would have felt it if he had.

It couldn’t be, that the Royal Protector had worshipped the Outsider right in the Tower, right under the Abbey’s very nose.

But if he hadn’t been tied with the Void, the Rite wouldn’t have worked.

Daud felt a slither of cold down his spine and a burning, bitter guilt spilled in his chest. He jerked his head in attempt to collect himself. He held on to dumb hope that perhaps something could still be fixed, but the city was already suffocating in agony and the one man capable of bringing change now wore an Overseers’ brand on his forehead and wished for nothing in this life.

Daud sucked in a noisy breath, trying to win over the sticky feeling of hopelessness.

The feeling refused to leave and Daud hurried to resume travel, choosing a more complex route just to keep his mind occupied. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to stop picturing how they cut open his skull and carved his mark out of his hand, and then the branding of the forehead and then—no will, no feelings, and no aims. Executing the Tranquil was forbidden, but Daud would prefer death to such an existence.

He moved to a higher roof and thought about how he’s completely forgotten how to live without the Outsider’s powers. 

The pub was called “The Hound Pits”. Daud stopped on top of one of the nearby buildings and swept a glance over the surroundings. A certain group of aristocrats reached out to him earlier, having presented themselves as “sympathetic to the young heiress”.

That drew a humorless laugh from him: first, one band of aristocrats pays him to murder of an empress, and now another band of aristocrats wants him to rescue her daughter. 

It was all so stupid.

Daud hated front doors. Or doors on principle, really. He preferred windows and roof tears, but he didn’t come here to steal or to kill, but to, supposedly, negotiate a plan. Now, he had to come down from the roof. Standing on the ground was somewhat uncomfortable. 

For a moment, Daud wanted to turn around in order to check whether the “tail” made up of a few Whalers was following him. He suppressed this diffident urge. It was unlikely that he’d be attacked here, even though there were reasons for it. Even if they tried, Daud would kill first. 

He entered quietly, slipped past the bar stand and saw only two men inside.

“And here is our assassin,” commented the taller one of the two. Daud squinted viperously and thought with a malice: _Choose your words more carefully. _For some reason, his first reaction to this pair—the former admiral (Daud recognized him right away) and some lord—was precisely the desire to draw his sword. “I’m Admiral Havelock. And this is Lord Pendleton.”__

__“I represent the nobility in our little group,” the lord added._ _

__Aristocrats, Daud hated just as much as he did front doors._ _

__“Now, Daud,” his own name from a stranger’s mouth sounded coarse but Daud stayed silent. Havelock continued, leaning against the bar stand: “We’ve been building a coalition of loyalists, aimed at ending the Lord Regent’s tyranny that began… not without your involvement.”_ _

__He held out a pause, expecting a reaction, but once again Daud said nothing. Irritation arose on the inside, but they had the right to blame him. He deserved it. The admiral stopped there, however._ _

__“At risk of execution, we swore to—”_ _

__“Spare me the flowery speeches,” Daud cut the lord off. Lord Pendleton effaced himself and tightened his lips, looking insulted. “Get to the point.”_ _

__“According to our intelligence, Lord Corvo was supposed to be executed,” Havelock picked up. “However, at the last second the decision was changed and he was put through the Rite of Tranquility. We have been laying low for too long, and thus, our efforts were delayed.”_ _

__Daud felt a spark of cold on the inside and replied,_ _

__“I already heard about that.”_ _

__“And yet, we still need him.”_ _

__“And you need me to get him out of prison,” Daud finished for him._ _

__“Precisely,” Lord Pendleton concluded. Daud could burst into laughter right then. By the Outsider! First, some nobles pay him to set the Lord Protector up. Then, other nobles pay him to rescue the man. “We realize you’ve been working from… a different political side,” Daud wanted to scoff at the chosen euphemisms, “but we understand that you weigh such matters in money, and we are prepared to offer you more than was offered then.”_ _

__Daud wanted to bellow: fuck money, what do you even know?! But he said nothing, just drilled him with a venomous stare._ _

__Then shrugged._ _

__“I accept.”_ _

__They clearly didn’t expect such quick agreement. Clearly thought about how much of a sell-out Daud was, if he was so easily willing to switch sides for money. Daud didn’t care, he didn’t choose any sides. All that was of interest to him was a chance to fix what he destroyed with his very hands. Take part in it, at least._ _

__The Lord Regent made a terrible ruler, he displeased many, so the presence of opposition was no surprise to Daud._ _

__“Generally, the Tranquil are kept in the Abbey,” Havelock said. “But the Lord Protector’s transfer hasn’t been announced. We can no longer delay, and we hope he’s still at Coldridge—”_ _

__“Oh, you hope…” Daud couldn’t help himself to start, but didn’t finish the spiteful thought. “I’m taking payment in advance,” he said, and the men did not object. “I’m assuming you have a plan—”_ _

__“Had,” Havelock countered, tossing him a coin pouch with obvious aversion, “before Corvo was tranquilized. Everything was supposed to turn out differently. You’ll get the rest after you bring him here.”_ _

_Amateurs…_ Daud thought with a sigh. 

__“Oh, and you will also need this,” Lord Pendleton perked up and handed him a few papers. “These are the prison plans; the Lord Protector’s cell is marked right here... at least, that’s where he was before the Rite. And, Daud, let's dispense with unnecessary violence.”_ _

__Daud suppressed the irritation and nodded._ _

__“And another thing,” continued Lord Pendleton. “One of our allies was discovered and captured. Teague Martin, an Overseer— former Overseer. He’s being held at Holger Square. It would be nice if you were to set him free, as well.”_ _

__Daud almost blurted out that he never agreed to play the Overseers’ benefactor, but bit down on his tongue in time. He was paid for that, as well._ _

__The mere thought of rescuing an Overseer turned his stomach._ _

__He didn’t even bother to check the coin pouch, just threw a glance at the men and left without goodbyes. He jumped to the nearest roof, traversed a decent distance and, as soon as he was far enough from the pub, slowed to a relaxed stride. Billie appeared somewhere behind, drew level with him, and for some time they walked in silence, and then Daud said,_ _

__“Get me an Overseer uniform.”_ _

__Billie nodded and darted to the side—Daud heard how her heels met the neighboring roof, and then she was gone._ _

__From here, the Flooded District was near at hand. Daud arrived quickly, which he soon regretted. Now that he was “home”, there was nothing to distract him from thoughts of Tranquility. The notion was dreadful. The one subjected to the Rite was Corvo, so it was fine (no, it wasn’t fine, Daud was only trying to calm himself), since Corvo didn’t know what the touch of the Outsider truly was. Daud knew, knew how gentle and responsive the god was, how caring (and indifferent) he could be. Daud knew a lot about the Outsider. The mere thought of losing him was distressing._ _

__More than front doors and aristocrats, Daud hated only the Overseers._ _

__Daud dropped the prison plans on one of the wooden tables. In order to calm down, he turned into a small room extending from the main area and with relief laid his eyes on his personal shrine._ _

__The Outsider was gazing from his portrait with an indifferent dignity. Daud stepped closer, cast his eyes over the blue, filled with rich color, flower buds. They possessively entwined around the heavy expensive frame, the legs of the altar and the tabletop, sprawled across the floor and were bit by bit seizing the room, hiding behind their petals and leaves the inscriptions on the walls. Daud lighted the lantern, its bluish unearthly luminance, reflecting from the Void, illuminated the Outsider’s face and he sat down, crossing his legs and sighing with relief. Here he felt at home, here the boundary between this world and the Void seemed so thin it could be torn with a flick of the eyelashes. The Outsider refrained from making an appearance but Daud still felt his gaze and attention, sensed it in the goosebumps scattering on his skin._ _

__He could stay angry at the black-eyed bastard all he wanted, only, the Outsider told him in the very beginning that he was merely an observer. He held no care for the world, the fate of entire cities wasn’t of much interest to him._ _

__Using human standards to judge the Outsider wasn’t fair, but Daud couldn’t help himself. After all, he himself was just a man who’s made a lot of mistakes. And people tended to shift responsibility to others._ _

__The Outsider was still irritated, but Daud sensed that he has calmed down, somewhat. There wouldn’t be a storm tonight, it seemed—maybe some rainfall. Asking the god was useless. He wouldn’t reply. He hasn’t shown himself in a long time, hasn’t spoken with him in a long time. Daud merely felt his presence and gaze. This kind of neglect almost offended him._ _

__One day, the Outsider had said with a scoff: “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”_ _

__Daud knew that all too well from experience._ _

__And yet Daud helped bring the world to collapse. So stupidly and so recklessly. He entertained his vanity, of course—he was asked to kill the Empress herself! Not every assassin can get such a job, it’s not every day and not even every year that you hit the jackpot like that. This happens only once in a lifetime, and so Daud agreed to it without hesitation. The suggested payment helped him reach the decision._ _

__The notion was old and familiar: everything was measured in coin. He hasn't stopped believing that, not at all. Only, where was that money now? Most of it spent, he couldn’t even remember on what exactly._ _

__How stupid._ _

__The money was spent, and Dunwall was dying of plague._ _

__The Outsider was probably watching it all with such great interest._ _

__Daud sat at his shrine for a bit longer, twirled in his hands the rune that lay by the painting on the tabletop until his mark began to burn, and then went back out into his workspace. Daud had some Coldridge plans of his own, as well—once or twice he’s poked his nose in the prison. Much more often, however, he was drawn into homes of the nobility whenever some lords and ladies ordered the deaths of other lords and ladies. Funny how the layouts of mansions and estates were so alike one another._ _

__On the plan given to him by the “loyalists” was marked the fifth cell in an isolated sector. That sector, from what he’s heard, was the death row. If they weren’t planning on executing Corvo anymore, it was unlikely that he was still being held there. Daud has already begun planning the infiltration; he didn’t order Billie to get an Overseer uniform for nothing. The easiest way to get in was to impersonate someone from the prison, and since the facility now housed a Tranquil (the loyalists were merely hoping that he was still there), then the Overseers should be there aplenty, as well._ _

__Daud felt a surge of cold, heard the sound of footsteps, and in the next moment, a uniform was laid on the table, next to the plans. Billie sat down on the tabletop’s edge that gave a dangerous creak, and Daud shot her a warning look. It brought no effect._ _

__“You seem really tied up,” she said, her voice sounding muffled beneath the gas mask. Daud hummed and warily touched the Overseer uniform, not wanting to know whom Billie has stripped it from. The mask stared back out of its hollow eye holes, grinning. “Since when are we fighting for the good guys?”_ _

__“These ones aren’t good,” Daud replied calmly, without having gotten annoyed at her. Perhaps he was too soft on Billie, not even considering whether or not it would come back to bite him one day. “It’s just another job. The nobles can’t decide anything among themselves, that’s all.”_ _

__“As always,” Billie blurted. Daud gave a short hum in response and unfolded the uniform. He looked at the gold-threaded symbols on the sleeves and shuddered internally. Billie climbed off the table, adjusted her hood and gibingly said: “I’ll leave you alone with this thing. Wouldn’t want to disrupt.”_ _

__Daud shot a glare at her back and said:_ _

__“Tell Thomas to get ready. Take a few more guys—you’ll come with, as well. I’m not going into this wolf’s den alone. And gather another group, tell them to go to Holger Square, there’s a captured Overseer there named Teague Martin. Set him free.”_ _

__Billie nodded—likely having grimaced under the gas mask—and dissolved in a heap of black particles._ _

__Daud changed into the uniform, picturing some unfortunate Overseer who, in a few hours’ time, would wake up nude in a dumpster. The thought amused him._ _

__They were bound to have a long night._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: (gonna put any and all of my translator's notes in bold, for distinction's sake) Hooh! So here's a thing. I really, really loved this story by TheRisingValkyrie, it shook me up real good, but as it is in Russian I'm taking it upon myself to translate it so more people can read it because it's wonderful. Hopefully, I can do it justice. I'll certainly try :^)**
> 
>  
> 
> **I’m hoping to update this once every week or two, as I’m still working on my longfic and I’ve never translated anything before so this is definitely a uhhh learning experience for me. Bear with me here! Hope you enjoyed.**


	2. Chapter 2

  
   

       ** _Daud_**    

According to the prison plans, getting into sector B was easiest through the main walkway. And that walkway was most likely swarming with guards. Daud was glancing at Coldridge’s imposingly oppressive facade, idly listening to the Whalers grumbling somewhere behind him, complaining at the Overseers’ music. The music box was playing somewhere far away, but even at this distance drilled the skull and turned the stomach. Just how many Overseers were there, if it could be heard all the way at the catacombs’ entrance?

They wouldn’t likely let Daud in through the front doors, that much he knew. They’d probably ask him to show some official papers of his assignment here, so he decided to not tempt fate.

He visualized the prison’s plans: main walkway, sector B to the left, and a door to the scaffold yard. He could pass through there, look for pipes or ventilation shafts that weren’t marked on the paper. 

The music box shrilled for a while longer and then died down.

“Find out if Corvo’s still in cell B05,” Daud said, having tuned to the Whalers. “If he isn’t, find him. As soon as you do, start clearing the ways to the exit, take out the ones with the music boxes first—” six pairs of glass eyes that flared from the light of the projectors stared back at him. “Just you try and raise an alarm. Understood?” 

They nodded and moved in silence, quietly dashed across the river, barely touching the water, and deftly climbed over the wall. Daud looked to the bridge: there he saw two guards and an Overseer. The latter was holding a music box, and Daud felt the urge to shoot him.

Why have so many Overseers keep watch over one Tranquil that no longer posed any threat and was even unable to? Just how paranoid was the Lord Regent?

Daud crossed the river and donned the mask. It was hard to breathe in it, his body itched beneath the clothes—he wanted to get this all over with quickly and change back into his usual garb.

He scaled the wall in the same place his Whalers did—the task was made very awkward by the Overseer uniform—and saw the scaffold yard.

On the wooden platform were three convicted. One of the jailers was readying his pistol, another, who stood on the observation deck, was reciting the sentence. Daud heard something about Corvo and only now noticed an Overseer when he, interested, moved closer to the scene. He took the man out, silently putting him in a chokehold and dragging him off. In passing he discerned that the three prisoners were getting executed for their involvement in a conspiracy, a plan to help Corvo escape. 

So the Loyalists have been discovered.

Which meant Daud won’t be handing Corvo over to them. Risking the loss of an ideal opportunity to somehow fix his screw-up was the last thing he needed. Daud was fine with carrying out the Loyalists’ requests only as long as they gave him useful direction. Money, in this case, wasn’t of much interest to him, there were matters of greater importance.

Daud stood in the Overseer’s previous spot, as, thankfully, they all looked the same in their uniforms. Casting a look to the door, he found a large window with no lattice above it, and a ventilation pipe right below.

Daud didn’t interfere with the execution. 

In a few minutes’ time he ended up inside the prison’s walls. It smelled of dampness, mold, rats, and piss. Daud had been here sometime before: the place wasn't the nicest. He couldn't imagine working here, not to mention serving a sentence. Even the dead, plague-ridden streets were more pleasant. Daud threw a glance around the hallway by the door leading into sector B and spotted an Overseer with a music box.

Something scrubbed at his insides. Being in the hallway, out in the open, was discomforting. He preferred moving under the ceiling—he fought the urge to jump up to someplace higher.

Daud hoped this wouldn’t take long.

As he passed the walkway into sector B, heading into the prison yard since the Overseer on his shift didn’t look like he’d be letting anyone in, he noticed that the sector had four stories and there were two more Overseers behind the door.

It looked like Corvo still hasn’t been transferred. Perhaps, they simply couldn’t do so in time.

Daud went out into the yard, for the door was open. He heard a music box, and it made him shudder with a surge of goosebumps. By the Outsider, the sound was abominable. His brain was melting, his vision began rippling and his eyes watered. Daud tightened his lips and hurried to step into the yard’s shadows. He hid behind a dumpster by the wall, feeling on edge. The sensation was present constantly, but now it especially tugged at his nerves with so many Overseers around.

When the music box quieted down, Billie appeared before him. 

“He’s in the cell that the Loyalists indicated,” she said. “On the sector’s first floor. There’s no one else in the other cells on that floor, but there’s Overseers and guards keeping watch. You don’t have to get into the sector through the corridor, there’s also a suspension bridge walkway.”

“Look for the key,” Daud replied. “One of the guards probably has it. Or it might be in the interrogation room.”

“Why there?”

“Because he was likely interrogated a lot,” Daud huffed. “But I’ll go there myself. No, you all just take out everyone in the main walkway. Just don’t make any unnecessary noise, or the whole guard will come running.”

Billie nodded and vanished, soaking Daud with a wave of chill.

Daud exited the yard from the other side. It seemed that the Overseers could go as they pleased in the prison, since not a single guard stopped him. Everyone just threw him nervous looks, tense and lacking any unnecessary movements. 

Daud thought that, maybe, wearing the Overseer uniform wasn’t such a bad idea after all. 

The interrogation room’s door was left wide open. Daud waited for a guard to pass and walked in, closing the door behind him. The torture chair stood in the center, spotted with blood, and there was also quite a bit of it on the floor. In the cold brazier lay a fire and branding iron. Daud grimaced, suppressed a pang of nausea, and turned away. He didn’t touch the audiograph, fumbled in the desk drawers and found a few labeled keys. They all opened cells in sector B; Daud found the one he needed and pocketed it.

He reached Corvo’s cell without any problems. No one stopped him. He exited the interrogation room, went up to the bridge walkway and effortlessly found the way into sector B. He ended up in some maintenance areas; the guard were also present here but there were no Overseers, so Daud slowed down and thus carefully piled the several unconscious bodies of the guards in a corner.

Two more had kept watch by the block entrance. The Whalers already took them out. Two Overseers stood by Corvo’s cell (one of them noticed movement) and were also taken down. Daud would have wanted to watch how their throats were slit. He approached and saw no Overseer with a music box by the nearby door, and all the officers that used to patrol back and forth down the hall were gone as well.

He nodded to his Whalers and they hurried out of sight. Then he came closer, noticing that there indeed was no one in the neighboring cells.

The best conditions for the Lord Protector, of course.

The last time Daud saw Corvo Attano, the man was tethered by one of the assassins. Corvo thrashed in the magical hold, howling in a way regular man wasn’t capable while fury burned away in his eyes. When the empress fell to Daud’s feet and her blood splattered the stone, Daud managed to get a glimpse of his eyes: there was no more anger in them, no more rage—only dim, impenetrable despair. Eyes of the dead.

Now, “dead” couldn’t be used to describe Corvo’s eyes. They held no malice, no despair. He was looking at the mask on Daud’s face with all-consuming, enwrapping calm and placidness.

Daud looked at the brand on his forehead. It looked just like the emblem on the Overseers’ masks and Daud clenched his teeth, feeling indignation eroding his insides like acid. He imagined himself like that, branded and locked up, and once again he felt sick. Daud could spit in the “black-eyed bastard’s” direction all he wanted, but he wasn’t ready to part with him. 

Were he in Corvo’s shoes, he’d probably hang himself. Daud liked to think so, but, in reality, were he in Corvo’s shoes, he’d have no such desire in the first place.

He’d have no desires at all.

The thought made Daud shudder. He pulled out the key and unlocked the cell.

People talked about the Tranquil, but Daud wasn’t inclined to believe rumors and superstitions. He didn’t know whether or not it was true that the Tranquil had no will, that they’d do anything they were told, but he decided to try.

“Let’s go,” he said grimly, and Corvo stood up, walked out of his cage without questions (the Overseers were already hidden) and expectantly stared at him. Daud, all of a sudden, felt lost. Now, when he stood up close, he could see how the black brand ingrained itself into skin.

It was abhorrent.

Daud wanted to get out of Coldridge as fast as possible—he needed air. He’d suffocate otherwise.

He blinked and opened his eyes a bit wider in order to see through the Void. He saw several bodies of guards and Overseers, as well as the Whalers not too far away, who scurried as they successfully carried out the task of clearing the hallways.

Corvo implicitly followed him.

The hallways were empty and quiet. The Whalers did their job well, with satisfaction Daud saw the bodies through the Void, piled and hidden in remote corners. Those people were still alive, which was also good. Probably.

Corvo didn’t ask questions, Daud heard his footsteps and saw his people through the Void, moving through shadows and behind walls. Their nearby presence was calming. Having Corvo right behind him was unnerving. Daud kept feeling like, any second, a sword will be thrust into his chest.

A life for a life.

But Corvo simply followed.

Daud calmly led him down the empty hallways, nearly coming this close to starting towards the exit, when Corvo spoke up.

“May I ask where I’m being led?”

He sounded monotonous and calm. Daud clenched his fists and resolved not to answer. 

Going out the main entrance was out of the question. Daud stilled, glanced through the Void and, spotting a conscious guard, pushed Corvo to the wall and clamped a hand over his mouth lest he try to ask one more time. Soon, Daud also heard footsteps. He hurriedly searched the hallway with his eyes, saw wide ventilation pipes under the ceiling, and, without losing another second, stuck a sleep dart into Corvo’s neck. The latter flinched and, very quickly, went limp.

Corvo spent six months in prison and still weighed quite a bit. Having him slung over the shoulder felt like carrying a sack of bones.

Daud transversed up to the ceiling before they could have been discovered. 

He’s carried so many people like that throughout his life, and yet his back ached more with each passing year.

Daud made it to the opening above the door leading to the scaffold yard.

Jumping from this height whilst carrying a heavy weight wasn’t a very good decision: Daud managed to make use of transversal, but still his feet hit the ground painfully. He silently swore, trying to adjust his grip on Corvo to something more comfortable. Billie appeared next to him, threw a glance over the scene, and Daud could have sworn he heard a huff under her gas mask. He refrained from commenting. The scaffold platform was empty—Daud looked through the Void once again and, just in case, climbed up onto the observation deck.

“Call back the guys, we’re done here,” he told Billie. She nodded and went back inside the prison’s walls.

Daud pulled off the Overseer mask, threw it to the ground and greedily sucked in some air.

Never again will he wear this uniform. Not for anything.

He didn’t wait for the Whalers and went ahead on his own. Soon, Billie caught up to him and, with a jab, offered for him to give the unconscious body to her or Thomas, but Daud waved her off, internally glad for the fact that, from the prison, the Flooded District was near at hand.

With a heavy body on his shoulder, “near at hand” turned out to be terribly relative. Daud couldn’t imagine what he’d do without the Outsider’s powers. Wouldn’t be able to drag Corvo all this way, certainly. Whenever he transversed, however, it was like his own and Corvo’s weight disappeared, and his mark pleasantly prickled.

When he spotted rows of half-destroyed, collapsed buildings, Daud breathed out with relief, crossed three more roofs and finally ended up “home”. He adjusted his grip on Corvo, grimacing.

After a few minutes he dropped Corvo onto a hard bed in one of the rooms near his own workspace. His back crunched, echoed with pain when Daud straightened out his shoulders, and he cringed. His spine, also, wasn’t happy; the arm with which he held Corvo has fallen asleep, his shoulder ached, something was popping in his left knee.

 _Getting old_ , Daud thought sadly, then leaned over Corvo and brushed the hair away from his face, being careful to not touch the skin as if the brand could spread to him like the plague. It looked nauseating, blackening Corvo’s forehead, and Daud soon turned around and walked out, assigning Thomas and Billie to keep an eye him.

He wanted to lie down and get a proper rest. Daud went up into his “bedroom”, heaved a sigh when he looked at his rigid bed, rubbed the small of his back and lay down after all, thinking that he should’ve just given Corvo to Billie instead of showing off. He didn’t want to sleep, he wanted his body to stop hurting. Daud realized with relief that the aches were the only thing occupying his thoughts, which was good. Getting a headache on top of everything else wasn’t at all what he needed right now.

In the end, he decided he’d go to the Loyalists in the morning, and stayed in bed. Nearly a half an hour later—according to his inner sense of time—the Whalers he sent after Teague Martin returned, reported the job done and that the former Overseer was delivered safely to the Hound Pits Pub, and then Daud allowed himself to doze off.

He awoke from the morning sun shining into his eyes. Daud shot a grim look at the sky in return, then squinted and went to check on Corvo.

He was already up.

He was sitting calmly on the narrow rigid cot, hands folded on his knees, and did not embark upon getting out of here or at least finding out what was going on and where he was. Billie stood by the doors, her back pressed against the wall and arms folded on her chest. When Daud walked in, she gave him a wave and left the two alone.

“I remember you,” Corvo said. “You killed the empress.”

His voice held no accusation, no pain, no malice, and Daud felt sick. He tightened his lips.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said, now looking at Corvo’s forehead. The Overseer brand showed too clearly with its dark thick lines.

“What am I here for?”

“I’m… sort of, trying to fix what I did,” said Daud with an effort, effort from having thought that being honest with one who was incapable of feelings and emotions would be easy.

But it wasn’t.

“You can’t bring back the dead.”

Daud closed his eyes and sucked in a slow, deep breath.

“There are those who want to return Emily to the throne. I’m, sort of, taking part in that.”

“What’s your name?” Corvo asked. It looked like the subject of the empress didn’t concern him. It couldn’t, not in this state.

“Daud.”

“The Knife of Dunwall,” Corvo echoed knowingly. Daud hated this name that’s stuck to him because of some measly newspapers. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, the whole aristocracy speaks very unflatteringly of you.” He spoke so monotonously it was drowsing. 

“You don’t say?” Daud breathed out. Then pulled himself together and went straight to the point. “You’re safe here. I’m going to have to leave now, but—” as if Corvo cared. Daud bit down on his tongue. “Just, make yourself comfortable.”

He shot another glance at a man whose life he broke and quickly exited. To Billie, who appeared outside, Daud said,

“If he wants,” Corvo couldn’t want anymore, but Daud had no better word for it, “to leave the room, don’t hold him, just don’t let him out of the building. And feed him.”

Billie nodded—somehow too tensely, and Daud quickly went outside.

After nightly adventures with a bony body on his shoulder everything still ached. Daud was glad for the warm-up: he ran over the rooftops, breathing in the damp morning coolness. Something still popped in his left knee, painless but irritating.

Daud reached the pub quickly, walked around on the roofs of the nearby buildings for a little more, then forced himself to come down to the ground and went in through the door.

He shot a glance at the former Overseer: he sat at one of the tables, seemingly lost in thought, and Daud hurriedly turned away from the eyesore. His Whalers got the job done without any issues, that he already knew.

It was still early morning but Havelock was already here: having seen Daud he called out to Lord Pendleton, and the latter immediately came out of the hallway, as though he’s been waiting. 

“I got Corvo out of Coldridge,” Daud said calmly and without greetings. Lord Pendleton’s eyes gleamed with something unsavory. Daud once again felt convinced that leaving Corvo in the den was the way to go. There, surrounded by five dozen Whalers, he was much safer than he would have been here.

“Yet, you did not bring him here,” Havelock replied, retaining his calm tone.

“And I’m not going to,” replied Daud. Lord Pendleton stared at him in astonishment, parted his lips to start spitting indignations, but Daud hissed in a breath and didn’t let him begin.

“You,” he pointed a finger at Havelock, “are a former admiral of the Gristol fleet, dismissed for disagreeing with the Lord Regent. You,” he moved his finger to Lord Pendleton, “are an aristocrat. You,” Daud pointed at the former Overseer who was disgusting to even look at, “are a former Overseer whom my people quietly and discreetly stole from right under Campbell’s nose. And all of this,” he waved a hand vaguely, “is just a filthy pub on a filthy street.”

“Are you saying that he will be safer with you?” Into Lord Pendleton’s voice seeped nasty condescending notes inherent to aristocrats. Daud wanted to thrust a blade into his throat. Through the mouth.

“I’ve got several dozen of trained armed men who are tied with the Void at ‘home’, the Outsider himself watches over that place,” Daud said patiently, perhaps bending the truth a little, but it had the desired effect. “Corvo is staying with me.”

“You think the government troops won’t show up at your door?” spoke up the former Overseer and Daud shot him a glare that could kill if he was capable. 

“They’ll rather come here. The Lord Regent is, of course, an idiot,” Daud reasoned with a sneer, “but not so much as to not keep an eye on those who, because of him, got left out of the picture. And a fleet admiral, albeit a former one, is still quite an influential face.”

Havelock seemed to agree, but something in his gaze didn’t sit right with Daud.

If this association was organized in order to save the heiress and the empire from the Lord Regent, then why so much vexation and disappointment in his eyes? For some reason, the Loyalists needed Corvo specifically here.

“I saw your people being executed in Coldridge,” Daud told them. “Your conspiracy may have been discovered. Who knows, perhaps the Lord Regent is already signing the order of your arrest. Think about that. In your spare time.”

Lord Pendleton clenched his teeth, his jaws tightening. 

Oh how it ruffled his feathers, that some mercenary didn’t do as they wanted. 

Daud liked to rile up Lord Pendleton, only, Lord Pendleton did the same in return with his mere presence and expression.

“If you don’t bring Corvo here you won’t get the rest of the payment,” he said, trying to bring his voice under control. Daud repressed the urge to rend the man’s face, shrugged and turned away, heading towards the exit, but his insides burned with spite and irritation. Daud would never stop believing that everything could be measured in coin, but it infuriated him when others spoke of it. Especially some measly noble who was desperately trying to appear much more significant than he really was.

“Sellsword,” Daud heard being hissed quietly somewhere behind him.

He wanted to just cut the lord’s throat open and be done with it.

“Daud, wait,” the former Overseer spoke up and Daud hoped that he’d have enough will to not toss a grenade to their feet. He closed his eyes, heaved a sigh, and turned back towards him.

The thought of some Overseer who last night woke up in a dumpster without clothes warmed his soul.

“We also need to deal with the heiress,” the man continued, his voice sounding soft and somewhat monotonous.

Almost like a Tranquil’s, but he wasn’t Tranquil and had no whiff of the Void about him.

“We suppose you just handed her to the traitors in the appointed place and don’t know her present location?”

Daud clenched his teeth, his Mark prickled as if he was going to use it, but didn’t glow through the glove.

“That’s right,” he said.

Lord Pendleton was looking at him with poorly hidden aversion.

Martin continued,

“Her location should be written in the private journal of High Overseer Campbell.”

“I can take him out?” Daud immediately asked, though the answer didn’t interest him much.

“You must.”

The thought of killing Campbell was calming.

Approaching the Flooded District, with satisfaction Daud heard in the distance:

**_ATTENTION DUNWALL CITIZENS: THE ASSASSIN CORVO, RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MURDER OF OUR BELOVED EMPRESS AND THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LADY EMILY, HEIR TO THE THRONE, HAS ESCAPED TEMPORARILY FROM CONFINEMENT IN COLDRIDGE PRISON._ **

There they were.

Nevertheless, Daud returned to his lair furious. Lord Pendleton, who viewed Daud as no more than filth, was insufferable. The Whalers, sensing his foul mood, tried to not get in the way: even Billie didn’t come out to meet him like usual. Not having paid enough attention to that, he right away went to his work corner and saw Corvo who was up and about. The latter stood alone and examined the maps pinned up to the boards. Daud saw that Corvo was looking at the huge, crossed out with red portrait of the empress and felt a momentary chill, but then remembered that Corvo didn’t feel.

“I don’t fucking understand,” Daud exclaimed, irate, having loudly tossed his pistol onto the table.

Corvo turned to him and flatly asked, 

“What specifically?”

Daud looked at him almost lividly. Corvo looked on, unacceptably calm with his Overseer brand bright and clear on his forehead. Daud couldn’t help himself: rage arose every time he saw the symbol of the Abbey.

“First, frame the Lord Protector,” Daud said after all, knowing that Corvo wouldn’t react anyway, aside from adding a couple of completely flat pieces of commentary that wouldn’t do any harm. “Then, rescue the Lord Protector. Damn it, Attano, your ass is too popular in this city!”

Corvo blinked. Did the Tranquil recognize metaphors?

“And yet, you’re getting paid for this ass,” he said suddenly.

Daud choked on air.

“True that,” he squeezed out, not having expected such a choice of words from a Tranquil.

He rubbed his face nervously, for some reason feeling the urge to ask whether Corvo’s gotten something to eat, but Daud never signed up to be anyone’s babysitter.

It would have been easier if Corvo wanted to kill him, if he was demanding to fight and was waving a sword at his throat, trying to take his head off. He would be, if not for the brand on his forehead. But now Corvo merely turned away from Daud and once again fixed his eyes on the empress’ portrait.

Daud had left it hanging as a reminder of what he’s done, a reminder of his mistake. A reminder of how the city began to die out because of him. The Lord Regent did nothing for the people, the sick didn’t interest him.

Perhaps, Jessamine had been the only one who could have kept this world in check.

These thoughts did no good to anyone. Daud once again glanced at Corvo and went upstairs. Let him wander wherever he pleased, Daud wasn’t afraid of him.

The superstitious and practically instinctual fear before the Tranquil didn’t count.

Of course, Daud didn’t believe that Tranquility could spread like the plague, as some talked on the streets, but that didn’t make it any easier.

As soon as he pulled off his heavy mackintosh and unbuttoned his short jacket, Billie appeared in the “bedroom”. For some reason, lately she wore the gas mask at all times, like she was trying to hide something. Daud blamed this quirk of hers on the fact that she always wanted to belong to something strong and powerful, and what better to signify belonging than symbols? Everyone recognized the Whalers by their gas masks.

“What did the Loyalists say?” she asked without greetings, and Daud huffed. 

“They contracted to take out Campbell.”

Billie curiously leaned her head to the side.

“And the payment?”

“Ah. That lord pissed me off too much. Instead of thinking of money, I thought about trying to not cut his chest open.”

Even with the gas mask on, Billie looked disappointed. 

“That isn’t like you,” she said as flatly as she was able.

“You think it’s my first time beating money out of clients by force?” Daud asked, pulling off his boots.

Billie didn’t answer, then gave a sidelong look downstairs, where Corvo went out into the hallway.

“Is it right to just let him walk around here like that?” she said slowly and somewhat unfavorably.

“He’s Tranquil,” Daud waved off, laying down. His spine immediately groaned. His neck gave a piece of its mind at the contact with the uncomfortable pillow. “He won’t do anything because he has no need to. Let him move around.”

 _For half a year he’s been stuck in prison because of me, unable to step outside his cage and the interrogation room, let him do what he wants_ —Daud, of course, didn’t say that aloud and mentally shuddered: Corvo couldn’t want anything anymore.

“Anything else?” he sighed. Billie flinched, gave a start and shook her head.

“No.”

She vanished with a wave of cold and Daud closed his eyes. He didn’t want to sleep, especially in such an uncomfortable bed. He could go after Campbell tonight. Daud hissed out a breath and called Thomas. The latter turned up beside him at once, shielding with his body the light pouring in from the hole in the roof.

“Find out if Campbell’s planning to stay in the Abbey for the night. Since they finally noticed Corvo’s disappearance, the Overseer should at the very least be on edge.”

Thomas nodded and disappeared from sight.


	3. Chapter 3

  
   

       ** _Corvo_**

   

The Whaler in a red mackintosh and with a gas mask hiding her face introduced herself as Billie. She answered no questions, and Corvo decided not to insist. She brought him food—real food, not the tasteless kind from the prison—reluctantly asked if he needed anything else and, having gotten a negative in response, said that he could freely move about the building. Then, idly waved him off and left.

Corvo ate and tried to stand up. An unpleasant weakness was felt in the knees, his head was cloudy. Side effects of the soporific he was injected with, probably. The drug was evidently very strong, or maybe the prison just weakened him so. It was morning already, foggy light seeped in through the dirty windows and flooded the room. The room was small, and yet had a set of double doors; in the corner were piled some planks and other junk. Aside from the bed, there was no furniture. 

He gave up on his attempts to stand up and, after a little while, a man who introduced himself as Daud came in. Corvo immediately recognized in him the killer of Jessamine, even though he didn’t get a chance to take a proper look at his face on that day. He’d had other things to worry about.

Now, no chords were struck at the sight of him. Corvo merely wondered for what purpose they got him out of the prison and brought him here. This time, his questions were answered. Daud looked pale, and, seemingly, agitated. Corvo thought that a bit strange. Should a hired killer be nervous around someone like him? 

When he left, Corvo rose from the bed after all. The hallway was quiet. There, too, heaps of planks were strewn about, sets of double doors loomed everywhere and silence stood. Corvo felt like he was being watched out of that silence, but that did not, and could not, disturb him. 

He pushed one of the doors and walked into a well-lit (because of a hole in the roof) room. The staircase on the right led up, and a work corner occupied the space below the second floor. Large cork boards were fully covered with some sorts of maps, schematics; atop those hung numerous portraits in black and white. All of them outlined and crossed out with red. Corvo approached and took note of a larger than the rest graphite sketch of the empress. 

He remembered well what happened to her. And who did it.

He remembered how, as she was getting killed, he lost his voice yelling. Remembered how, later, in prison, he allowed himself to break into bawling, barely managing to choke the sounds within himself. Remembered that it was simply unbearable to even breathe. He couldn’t eat for several days after, and the ceaseless hysterical fit exhausted him to no end. Each time a new felon was executed on the scaffold threw him out of balance all over again, and he wasn’t even ashamed of that weakness. After, the interrogations began, and he had to shove it all somewhere away, clench his teeth and keep quiet. 

Fortunately, he had only memories left of it all, now.

The absence of emotions and feelings gave some sense of… freedom. He didn’t hurt, his body only ached a little from all the torture sessions he went through, but it didn’t seem important or awful. It’ll pass, and Corvo won’t even remember it. 

He went up the stairs, nearer the hole in the roof. This was someone’s bedroom, but personal belongings to Corvo were of no interest. He merely flitted his gaze over the few articles of furniture: a rigid, uncomfortable-looking bed (it looked better, however, than a prison bunk), a small table, a trunk, some more rubbish of no significance in the corner.

Corvo tried to stand in a way so that the strained sunlight that was pouring out of the clouds fell on him. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply the fresh moist wind.

Ventilation pipes and openings were at every corner in the prison, and still the smell there remained damp, stale, and rotten. Here was a hint of dampness as well, but the building was well-aired. Corvo stood still, noting that sensing the cold fresh air was physically pleasing, and when he's had enough he went back down and out into the hallway. On the left was something of a library. At the very least, at some point there may have been one; now the shelves were empty or littered with tattered, soggy books. 

Afterwards, Corvo returned to that work corner to take one more look at Jessamine’s portrait, and then her killer came back. Something had the man irritated, they spoke little, and Corvo soon left him alone so as to not be a bother.

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

   

To the Office of the High Overseer Daud went on his own. Going to such a place alone was, perhaps, highly conceited, but Daud has always been like that. He believed that it was much easier for one man to slip by unnoticed, he loathed the unnecessary noise. The Coldridge situation was different—they had to go in and come out with a target. Now, the target was going to stay right where it was. Ideally, of course, with an opened throat.

Climbing over the fence, Daud stopped and crouched on a wide support column and heard one of the two Overseers down below say something about a brand.

“It’s a rare occurrence, this Heretic’s Brand,” the Overseer said. Horrid masks covered their faces and Daud grimaced, suppressing an urge to drop down on them from above. “But I did spy the face of one so branded and saw him. A former member of our order, of course—out on a retreat, we saw him begging. The brand is reserved for an Overseer, or even the High Overseer himself—” Daud immediately perked up at the words. “—who violates our codes and must be cast out, permanently. Remember the Seven Strictures and you never need worry about such matters.”

Something told Daud that Campbell didn’t remember the Seven Strictures very well. He licked his lips, made his way across to the wide eaves of the neighboring building and finally reached a point from where the Office was in full view. 

The Office of the High Overseer, similar to the prison, came across as oppressive, except for the fact that an obscure aggression arose within Daud when he looked at the building. Huge red tapestries extended along the walls, the Abbey’s symbol stitched onto them in gold, and Daud wanted to tear them off so that they fell into the dirt.

Right across from him, nearly all the windows above the eaves were left wide open. Daud clearly saw the light and the Overseers that loitered inside.

_A Tranquil Lord Protector and a chastened former Overseer get stolen from right under their noses, and they still show such carelessness?_

_What a bunch of morons._

Daud vaulted over to the eaves of the Office building, looked down where the Overseers scurried in large numbers, hemmed and unhurriedly headed closer to the windows. He crouched, having come near, and peeked in through one of them. The hallway was in full view; Daud climbed inside and saw two men on his left. They were too immersed in conversation and didn’t notice him, so he quickly returned to the eaves. It was much warmer inside: Daud felt it clearly even through the thick layers of clothing. He shrugged, watched the Overseers through the Void and, having waited for one of them to walk away, stunned the other and pulled him out onto the eaves. If he were to wake, startle, and fall off, that would just be his problem.

Daud mentally scoffed, picturing the scene, and then did the same with the second Overseer who, as it turned out, didn’t manage to go far. 

There was no one else in the hallway. Directly on the right was a door with the sign “INTERROGATION ROOM,” but it turned up locked. Daud walked in the other direction and saw the archive room. Several Overseers were inside, their images burning yellow through the blue Void. Daud quietly opened the door and right away transversed onto a tall bookcase. He wasn’t seen. He jumped over to the second floor, behind one of the Overseers, choked him out and dragged him off to a remote corner. After half a minute, the others shared the same fate. Daud came down onto the floor, brushed his gaze over the flipped-open book on the table, catching nothing worthy of interest. A key lay beside the book, and Daud took it just in case. 

He returned to the interrogation room and took note of the small corridor perpendicular to it. At its end was another door, also labeled as the interrogation room, and was unlocked. 

The chair in here was identical to the one in the prison. Daud even grimaced when he saw it. The floor, though—clean and light, scrubbed to the point that it showed cloudy, unclear reflections.

Up on a ledge behind bars was, apparently, the audience area. Seemingly, that was where the locked door led. Perhaps the key he found in the archive would fit, but there was a bit of space between the bars and the ceiling, so Daud managed to climb through. 

In this small area was a cabinet and a table, on which lay the branding iron. The brand itself looked nothing like the Overseer symbol on Corvo’s forehead, rather, it resembled a three-tined pitchfork. Daud lightly tossed the iron in his hand, already knowing what he’d be doing with Campbell, but was surprised to see no brazier around. Only later, having looked more closely, he realized that the brand was anointed with something (some chemical solution, most likely), and Daud resolved not to touch it.

His hands, of course, itched to kill. Daud was used to solving problems through death—a dead man brought no problems—but he knew perfectly well that suffering was much “better” than a swiftly slit throat.

The fact that the branding iron was just left lying around here suddenly seemed so stupid. 

Daud left the brand on the table, he’d come back for it later. He exited and took the eaves to reach Campbell’s office. It was located on the same floor and Daud silently jumped off into the room from a window, staying crouched. In the same moment he heard a rune, his teeth ached from the sound and he madly blinked his eyes, immediately finding it through the Void. The rune flared on a wall, and Daud, appearing next to it, snatched it off and pocketed it. His mark felt scalded, but the rune stopped ringing. There was no time to wonder why there was a rune in an Overseer’s office in the first place. Daud shot a dubious look at the tray with glasses and wine on the long table, circled around the office for a while more, but found no black journal. He swore under his breath—this seemed exactly like the kind of place where private journals should be held. 

Hearing a turning of a key in the other doors, Daud startled and darted to the window, hiding on the ledge.

Entered Campbell; he wasn’t alone, they were talking about something, but Daud stopped listening as soon as he realized that the dialogue concerned neither Emily nor Corvo. As soon as Campbell closed the doors behind them, Daud wasted no more time and sent a sleeping dart into both their necks. 

Daud blinked his eyes and saw more people standing behind the door, so he did not hesitate. He quickly went back inside, heaved up Campbell onto his shoulder and doubtfully returned to eaves. He swayed, but kept his balance. 

Campbell was heavy. All the Overseers that Daud’s carried today were noticeably lighter. His back groaned, Daud sadly predicted tomorrow’s aching, and quickly headed in the direction of the interrogation room. 

Daud dropped the heavy body onto its polished floor, stretched and felt something in his spine pop, then bended over, unclasped Campbell’s clothes and fumbled in the inner pockets. There he found a small hardcover journal, flipped through it to make sure it looked like a diary he came here for, and put it in his pocket, next to the rune.

He had to heft Campbell up again in order to drop him into the chair. 

Strapped to it like that, Campbell looked good. Daud went to get the branding iron, gauged its weight in his palm, tossed it from hand to hand, lazily looking over the High Overseer of whom there now will be nothing left.

Authority was authority, but only the Overseers were too fond of conventions and traditions to overlook the Heretic’s Brand. Campbell would be expelled from the Abbey as soon as they found him here. 

The thought was warming. 

Daud took a step back with a thought that this chair was identical to the one that Corvo was strapped to for half a year. On the same chair they tortured and tormented him, attempting to achieve something. 

One could only admire the Lord Protector’s endurance. 

Campbell’s skin hissed beneath the brand, spawning a sharp odor of something chemical. He flinched all of a sudden, gave a dull cry, but, to Daud’s surprise and disappointment, did not come round and right then fell back into unconsciousness. 

How did they brand those condemned to Tranquility? 

Was it also painful? Did the skin also hiss and burst?

_Did Corvo scream?_

Half of Campbell’s face was now covered by an ugly, not very neatly applied, brand. Daud wasn’t trying. He shot one last look at this work of art of his, dropped the branding iron onto the floor and quickly went out into the hallway where noise has arisen from the disturbance, and from there slipped onto the eaves through the window. 

Sometimes, Daud really loved his job.

Having gone far from the wealthy neighborhoods and reached the areas where the roofs sloped and flattened out, Daud came to a stop. 

He sat down on a flat roof (sitting on the tiling was very uncomfortable), legs bent, and flipped through the journal to the very last entries. Campbell’s writing held too much nonsense, ruminations about the Overseers, the Abbey, then about how the empire was rotting, that the empress couldn’t save it and even contributed to its fall. Daud scoffed grimly. Of course.

At last, he reached the records of the conspiracy and once again was struck by the same kind of carelessness.

The grand political scheme was neatly laid out on paper, no encryption of any kind, just plain words. 

Daud rubbed his eyes and heaved a sigh. 

And he was getting paid so well for this.

Daud only briefly brushed his gaze over the lines concerning Corvo, trying not to focus on that at the moment. Instead, he finally found the information on the heiress. 

Did she really spend the entire half-year in the Golden Cat?

He shrugged, shut the journal, and lay back onto the roof. The tiling wasn’t much softer than his bed; his back began groaning at once and he grimaced, thinking about how much he needed a hot bath. 

Daud sorrowfully remembered that he hasn’t had one in several years.

He looked tiredly at the lightening horizon, thinking that he still needed to visit the Loyalists today, that he’d once again have to look at Lord Pendleton’s face and listen to his voice. Afterwards, he’d go get Emily and then proceed to… sort everything out, somehow. Preferably, of course, without the Loyalists, only Daud didn’t understand a damn thing in politics and this whole matter was nothing but political. 

First things first, he went back home. Slipped past the sleepy Whalers and returned to his bedroom through the roof. Repressing the urge to throw himself onto the hard cot, he went downstairs. 

Daud took the rune out of his pocket, dropped it onto the desk together with the journal; propped himself up on his arms with a sigh, closed his eyes in order to bring his thoughts under order. The rune, lying by his fingers, was emitting a gentle ringing as though in a reminder of its still being here. 

A door opened with a soft clap. Daud slightly turned his head to the side. 

His head was so heavy, he suddenly felt so tired. Corvo closed the door behind him and approached. 

“I heard you come in.”

Daud wanted to scoff, but made no sound. 

What sharp hearing Corvo had.

Daud opened the journal, flipped through it once again, debating whether to hand it over to the Loyalists or to keep it for himself. Submerged in his thoughts, he almost didn’t hear the soft ringing of the rune.

He felt the contact through his glove and startled, barely managing to hold in the long-developed reflexes. Corvo was touching his hand. The tip of his finger was tracing over the glowing mark and Daud froze, watching him with alarm, not knowing where this interest was coming from but not interfering. 

His heart pummeled the throat. As if in some superstitious fear that a Tranquil could sever his connection with the Void.

But Corvo was just touching. 

Corvo looked at him, their gazes met, and Daud felt as if his spine was shot right through.

_Corvo was…_

Daud cut the thought off. He stared at the brand and tore his hand away. The mark’s glow dulled as soon as the distance to the rune increased. Corvo stepped away from him, saying nothing, though held his gaze for a suspiciously long moment.

Expecting a ruse from a Tranquil was foolish. 

And yet, his heart kept pounding in his throat. Daud had no idea why.

“Is this a rune?” Corvo asked in a low voice, once again having come nearer. Daud shot a glance at the rune, swallowed, and nodded. Corvo stood so close to the desk that Daud could feel his warmth. And his smell. Daud closed his eyes. Corvo’s hair smelled of dust and damp.

He bit down on the tip of his tongue when Corvo picked up the rune and twirled it in his large fingers. 

“You don’t hear it?” Daud asked arduously. Corvo glanced at him, and an internal shudder threaded through Daud once again.

“No,” he replied and once again fixed his stare on the Outsider’s mark inscribed on the rune. “I’ve never held a rune before.”

Daud thought about just how impossibly bizarre this looked: a Tranquil holding a shard of the Void in his hands. Any Overseer would probably faint at such a sight. Or reach for a music box. The thought was almost amusing, but Daud remained standing very close, eyes fixed on Corvo in scrutiny. 

He couldn’t imagine touching a rune and not feeling the power it held. And Corvo didn’t feel it. For him, a rune was merely a slab of whalebone, large and cold. Just a useless white rock with an etched symbol that meant nothing to him. 

For Daud, that symbol was everything, his entire existence. He gulped and rubbed his hand where beneath the glove’s fabric was hidden the mark that guided him through this life.

_By the Outsider…_

Corvo set the rune back down on the desk and brushed his gaze over Campbell’s journal. Daud let him look, though it didn’t seem that it truly interested him. 

Was there anything at all that could interest him in this state?

“I branded him,” Daud said quietly, having leaned with his hip against the desk and clutching its edge with his fingers. He felt like that was important to mention, only there was no flicker of response or reaction in Corvo’s eyes. Couldn’t be. “Could’ve killed him, but… felt that this is better.”

Corvo, all of a sudden, nodded. Nonplussed, Daud stared at him, then at the brand on his forehead, not knowing what to respond with. 

“Campbell is a bad man who deserves bad things,” Corvo said, calm and reasonable, as if explaining some mathematical axiom. Daud nervously licked his lips and decided that this was probably Corvo’s way of expressing approval. He allowed himself to soothe his soul with this thought. His conscience still scraped at him but the thought of having done the right thing almost appeased it, a little. 

The future awaited him with a series of several more “right things” he had to do. He only needed to not ruin everything once again. 

“I need to check in with our ‘friends’,” Daud said, voice low. 

“Will I get a chance to meet them?”

“No,” Daud replied somewhat too sharply, and bit his tongue when he realized it. It didn’t seem like Corvo paid that any mind. “I don’t think so. You’re safe here, dragging you around the whole city isn’t the best idea.”

Corvo nodded again.

Either he simply wasn’t going to argue, or he decided for himself that Daud was right.

Swallowing, Daud left the rune to lie on the desk and told Corvo,

“You can have it.”

Corvo looked at him, tilted his head a bit to the side, and suddenly said,

“You should get some sleep first. You had a busy night.”

Was that how he… showed care? Daud swallowed; then, once again having regained self-control, forced out a nod and did not move from his spot. Corvo came closer, took the rune from the desk, threw another odd glance at him and left.

Daud shuddered.

He couldn’t go to sleep. Foggy morning light was hitting the eyes, the bed was still just as rigid as ever, but that wasn’t the main reason and Daud was angry with himself. Every night he was spending in attempt to fix the empire he broke with his very hands, was there really a reason for insomnia?

When Daud tired of lying around, he once again flipped through Campbell’s journal that he earlier put back in his pocket. He kept trying to imagine the man’s reaction upon his waking. How he felt. After all, they didn’t tranquilize him, Daud stripped him of everything and left only what was most terrifying—pain. After all, Campbell deserved it, and Daud so wished to see his frightened expression when he recognized what was happening. And how did the Overseers react? What did they say?

How did he get thrown out of the Abbey?

While reading, the surname “Pendleton” caught Daud’s attention. The records spoke of some Morgan and Custis—likely, they were relatives of a certain lord he was acquainted with. 

Daud stood up—entirely too suddenly, it turned out. His vision darkened, he swayed lightly on his feet, making him sit back down. Heaved a sigh at a light twinge of nausea. Getting something to eat would have been a good idea; with all the flitting about he’d completely forgotten about food. After waiting for the dizziness to pass, Daud came out onto the roof, took a deep breath of fresh air and headed towards the pub. His head felt heavy, he felt a sharp threat of exhaustion that there was no sign of when he was lying in bed. Daud didn’t bother to return, with effort suppressing the urge to simply lie down on one of the flat roofs and not get back up. 

Daud came down on the ground next to the Hound Pits and walked in through the door. 

He was beginning to get the impression that Havelock and Pendleton did nothing but sit there, talking and drinking. Martin was here as well, all three of them were lively discussing something, gathered around a single table, but at once quieted down as if by a press of a button as soon as Daud entered the room.

He walked up and without greetings loudly tossed the heavy journal on the table.

“It all comes so easy to you, doesn’t it,” said Lord Pendleton, already reaching for the journal. Daud slightly raised his eyebrows, but refrained from commenting or asking to elaborate. “How fares the Lord Protector?”

Daud didn’t want to talk to them about Corvo.

“Wonderfully,” he gritted out with effort. 

“As for the High Overseer—”

“I didn’t kill him,” Daud sighed, “I branded him a heretic.”

Lord Pendleton at once opened his mouth, flaring up, but made no sound thanks to the glare Daud fixed him with. Daud understood: a dead man could bring no problems—unlike a living one, in whatever condition. Corvo was proof of that, for instance.

However, the former Overseer Martin was looking at him with some sort of admiring horror. As though he didn’t even dare think of such a thing, and here Daud just was casually mentioning it like he was talking about the weather. The effect was quite pleasing.

“In that case, he won’t be a problem again,” Martin said slowly, not taking his eyes off him. There was some sort of delightfully superstitious fear in his gaze: Daud thought that maybe that was the way he himself looked at Corvo whenever he stood too close.

“Are you sure?” asked Lord Pendleton.

Martin nodded. Of course, he didn’t grow any more appealing in Daud’s eyes, but at least it wasn’t so disgusting to look at him now. 

“I suppose I can now go after lady Emily,” he said, and Lord Pendleton shot him an unsavory glance.

“You’ve read the journal.”

Daud looked at him again, mentally remembering all the Serkonan insults. He didn’t say them out loud. Such indignation could appear suspicious, only, this was Lord Pendleton—they mutually loathed one another. However, Havelock had an odd look of frustration on his face.

“Are you going to pay or what?” Daud pressed. Lord Pendleton threw him a spiteful glare and tightened his lips.

“Last time we got the impression that money doesn’t interest you all that much.”

“Enough clowning around,” Havelock suddenly cut him off. Lord Pendleton’s face went splotched with red. “Give our partner his payment.”

Lord Pendleton pressed his lips and hurled the coin pouch to Daud. The latter caught it, tossed it in his hand and pocketed it, and then gave a jesting bow. Havelock’s expression remained unchanged, Martin smiled oddly, with just the corners of his lips, and Lord Pendleton reddened even more and inhaled with apparent effort. Daud was left pleased.

“My brothers in Parliament are a formidable force, they represent an entire bloc,” said Lord Pendleton, having recollected himself and now flipping through the journal. “We will not be able to stop the Lord Regent from further consolidating his power while his position is this stable—”

“They have to die,” Martin interjected. Lord Pendleton threw him a glance. It was apparent that he didn’t much favor his kinsmen. 

“They often spend time in the Golden Cat,” he said slowly. “Full days, at times. You must kill them.”

With disappointment, Daud thought that, in this case, he’d most likely have to go to the Golden Cat in broad daylight. 

He didn’t respond, just gave a barely noticeable nod.

 _By the Outsider,_ he thought all of a sudden, and something unpleasantly scraped at him on the inside, _so many steps, and in fact, showing everyone the real murderer would be enough._

“We presume that you mean to keep Lady Emily with you, as well?” Havelock asked slowly. 

“You presume correctly.”

“A den of killers is no place for an heiress,” Lord Pendleton hissed through gritted teeth. 

“I already said that there’s hardly a place safer than among the Whalers,” Daud hummed curtly. “Except for the Void.”

The smile vanished from Martin’s face, he looked as if the words just slapped him. Daud wondered, if he were to show him a rune or his mark, would he faint altogether? He decided not to test that theory, though his hands itched for it.

“But, I’m afraid not everyone is granted a way into the Void,” he added and took a step back. “Have a good day, and may the Outsider’s will reign over all.”

Cultists, it looked like, these three loathed even more than they did mercenaries. The former Overseer, especially. Daud shot another satisfied glance at his face and left. 

He understood full well why the thought of Corvo and Emily staying with him made them so nervous. Their safety, it seemed, didn’t concern the Loyalists much (especially Lord Pendleton); of much more interest to them were the buttons they could press and the strings they could pull. While Corvo and Emily were with Daud, all the strings were in his hands. Titles barely meant a thing when you were dealing with a band of assassins. It just didn’t sit well with the Loyalists that they weren’t the only ones who could dictate the course of events. Rather, it was Daud who was using them, and not the other way around.

He wasn’t planning to go to the Golden Cat alone. Daud couldn’t yet picture a way to discreetly remove the heiress from there. There’d be a lot of people in the bathhouse, he couldn’t choke out them all. Obviously, hardly anyone could recognize the face of the heiress, but the very presence of a child in such an establishment was reason enough to attract to her too much undesirable attention.

They just couldn’t find a more fitting place to hide the heiress to the throne, could they?

Having returned home, Daud right away threw himself on the bed in a very awkward twist and fell asleep. Upon his waking his whole body groaned, and Daud just lay, stretched out, pondering how life was pain after all. The sun ceased its peeking into the hole in the roof: it was probably around four. It was very quiet, Daud turned his head to the side and blinked, peering through the Void as far as he could see. Behind the wall he saw several Whalers, but Corvo was nowhere to be found. Daud got up from the bed and quietly went out into the hallway, slipped past his men and got to the room that was allocated to Corvo. The latter was lying in his bed, sleeping, turned away from the doorway. Daud blinked, fixed his gaze on him through the Void, but Corvo did not stand out in it in any way. He remained the same grey as the rest of the inanimate world. The Void always illuminated life with yellow, and it was as if Corvo had none in him.

Daud swallowed. It looked wrong. He took a step back, turned away and hurried to leave, trying to win over his unrest.

Tranquility severed people from the Void. In some sense, made them invisible to it. It was understandable, but disturbing.

And very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: I am LIVING for Martin immediately going D: at the mention of the Void and Daud fucking with him lmaoooo**


	4. Chapter 4

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

    

The Outsider gazed from the the portrait with immutable cold condescension. Daud was looking up at him, as he was sitting on the floor. In the past couple of days, lush blue hydrangeas suddenly grew so much that now began catching on the ceiling’s disordered planks. Whenever the Outsider sometimes gave his spurs of attention, the flowers, fueled by the Void, would grow abnormally quickly. Daud liked that a lot: at times he could leave at night, come back in the morning, and by then the flowers would be filling up half the room.

“Daud.”

He turned his head, having heard his name. Corvo was standing in the doorway, with the brand looming on his forehead, and twirling the rune in his large fingers. Daud clenched his teeth tighter so as not to avert his eyes. Looking at Corvo was very unpleasant. Daud even took a peek at him through the Void: Corvo didn’t stand out, was _invisible_ to it.

“I’m here to wish you luck in my daughter’s rescue.”

Daud choked on air.

“Emily is your daughter?” he asked slowly, hoarsely, practically in terror, forcing himself to stand up.

“Yes,” the calm reply came and knocked Daud’s breath out of him. Something clenched in his chest, squeezed so tightly he could barely breathe. This was too much.

Too much. He would have preferred not to know.

“What’s wrong?” Corvo asked and Daud shook his head.

“Everything’s fine,” he replied in a strained whisper.

Nothing was fine. Daud didn’t understand why this news was so unhinging, but learning of kinship between the heiress and the Lord Protector was frightening. Too much. Daud has left dozens of children motherless and fatherless. But Emily was a special child, wasn’t she?

Corvo didn’t even remember that he loved her.

Daud’s mouth went dry.

He believed less and less that anything could still be fixed. He’d broken much more than he planned, it turned out, and now had no idea what to do.

Corvo came closer, looking at the Outsider’s portrait with empty eyes. Daud felt uneasy. The sharp feeling of the wrongness of everything happening appeared once again. Was the Outsider also unable to see Corvo?

If so, then that was almost frightening. The thought that the Outsider had limitations unnerved. 

“I don’t know how they found out about my ties with the Void,” Corvo suddenly said. Daud froze, as though his movement could spook the candidness. “I’ve never owned any runes or bonecharms, I’ve never visited the shrines.”

“Many people are tied with the Void,” Daud replied reluctantly. “In one way or another. You could point at anyone with a good chance of hitting the mark. Maybe they were bluffing and got lucky.”

Corvo shrugged. 

“I remember sometimes seeing… dreams. Something of the sort,” he continued, still twirling the rune in his fingers. It looked very small in his large hands. “I’d break a teacup in a dream, and then it would happen in reality. But I never told anyone about it, so… I’m just curious about the fact that Campbell was somehow able to find out.”

In response, Daud carefully asked,

“Would you like to get rid of the brand, if you could?”

Corvo tore his gaze away from the Outsider’s portrait and fixed it on Daud.

“Now that I know what it’s like, no,” he replied. A chill slithered down Daud’s spine. He heard that all Tranquil answered like that, but hearing it himself was… appalling.

“Why not?”

“Having feelings was… not very pleasant? Especially in the last months before the Rite. I even remember why.”

Daud heard a twinge of accusation and spite, but likely just imagined it. A Tranquil couldn’t feel anger, couldn’t accuse. He was just projecting. It was stupid and hopeless, so Daud painfully bit down on his tongue and forced himself to say,

“I have to go.” He glanced at the Outsider’s portrait. “You can stay here.”

Just in case, on the way out he gave Corvo as wide a berth as the room's size allowed.

He didn’t feel like getting mixed up with the Pendletons. On the one hand, it was necessary in undermining the Lord Regent’s position. Plus, Daud would get to slit at least some of the Pendletons’ throats. On the other hand, he felt an itch of an utterly silly and childish urge to annoy Treavor. That would help nothing and wouldn’t lead to anything, however.

Daud didn’t feel like dealing with them himself. He ran through the different options in his mind and thought about Slackjaw. The Whalers almost never crossed him. His and their craft were similar, but Daud preferred to keep neutrality rather than “make friends” with such gangs. Friendship always entailed obligations that Daud didn’t want to impose on himself. Slackjaw hated aristocrats as much as Daud did: it was highly likely that he’d have some idea for getting rid of the Pendletons, but he wouldn’t help out of the goodness of his heart, would ask for something in return. Daud didn’t have time for that. Killing would be faster, over and done with.

But first, Emily. 

The Golden Cat was a place that at first glance made an almost favorable impression. An establishment for the elite, terribly expensive, glossy, literally breathing chic. Closer examination, of course, easily uncovered all the rot. Daud really didn’t want to go there.

He stopped on a roof of a neighboring building—it was abandoned—and sat down on the tiling. With a surge of cold, Billie and Thomas appeared behind. 

Daud tiredly rubbed his face. 

“Look for the Pendletons. I’ll handle the heiress,” he said, not feeling any desire to move from his spot. Something popped again in the knee as soon as he stood up.

“I’ve been here one time,” Billie suddenly said. Daud looked at her in surprise. “On a job,” she added with poorly hidden irritation. “On the top floor there are dormitory rooms, the heiress may likely be there.”

Daud nodded.

The Golden Cat’s building was abundantly decorated with balconies and wide eaves, and it didn’t take much effort to reach them. 

On the inside, the Golden Cat was disgusting. A vulgar shade of red covered the walls, ceiling, and floor. Daud grimaced and headed to the right: there, the red upholstery abruptly broke off—it looked like this area was not intended for clients. Thomas went ahead, Billie turned a corner with Daud and hushed that this was the place where she’s been. Daud nodded, sent Billie after the Pendletons and unhurriedly made his way upstairs. It was quiet, he made periodic checks for people through the Void.

Daud went up to the top floor and swept his eyes over the hallway. It was quiet an empty, he listened in, then glanced through the Void. Behind a few of the doors were silhouettes too tall for a child, and then, finally, he saw a shrunken small figure. He felt this was abnormally easy, it was even unsettling how fast he found Emily. Just how distracted were the Pendletons? 

Daud pushed the door—it gave surprisingly easily—and saw her. Emily saw him as well, flinched, recognition flickered in her childish eyes, and she darted into the farthest corner. Daud swallowed, his insides scraped, but he quietly stepped into the room and closed the door. She didn’t scream, though that was exactly what Daud expected from the child.

“Lady Emily—”

“I know you,” she uttered, and in her voice Daud heard hatred. 

Genuine, completely unchildlike hatred. Children couldn’t hate like this. Daud didn’t sense her powerlessness. He didn’t know how that could be, but it seemed like Emily was capable of turning her hatred into actions—very real actions that would bring very real harm, very real pain. She looked as if she was capable of payback and was sure of it. And—how stupid!—Daud believed this confidence instantly. He, a hired killer with experience, bearing the mark of the Outsider, believed that a ten-year-old girl could destroy him. Not for a second was he ashamed of this belief.

And she had already begun—her furious gaze, in which there was not an ounce of despair, was drilling his heart.

What, if not a mother’s murder, could harden a child so?

Clearly, Emily wasn’t an ordinary child. No, an ordinary child would break and bawl for several months in a row. Daud knew what that was like. Knew it well himself. 

Emily wasn’t crying, at least not now. Emily was fury incarnate. Dangerous, savage, and ready to rend Daud’s throat. 

“Lady Emily, please, we don’t have much time,” he said, having collected himself. 

How low you’ve fallen, Daud, if a ten-year-old girl can scare you with a glare and three words. 

The Outsider must be laughing.

“We need to leave.”

“You brought me here,” she answered unkindly, narrowing her eyes.

“I know.” Daud did not step closer. As if he was genuinely afraid that she’ll open his throat with a hair pin. He tried to assure himself that he was standing so far because he didn’t want to scare her even more. “I will bring you to your father.”

Something gleamed in Emily’s eyes. She raised her head, arching her eyebrows, looked Daud over with curiosity and swallowed.

“How do you know that he’s my father?” she asked, somehow tensely. Daud was guessing that Emily rarely called Corvo that, if she even called him anything at all. Too many conventions at court. 

“He told me so.”

She squinted and raised her chin. Gave an odd, utterly unchildlike hum.

“Lady Emily, I beg you, come with me. I need to get you out of here, I will bring you to Corvo.”

“How come?” she asked in a harsh, unobjectionable tone, and Daud sighed disconcertedly.

“I’m trying… to fix what I can.”

“You won’t be able to fix this,” she said with malice, but didn’t ask further questions and approached with calm dignity. 

A true heir of the empress. 

Daud repressed a stupid urge to take and lead her by the hand. He jerked his head in a shake, and together they went out into the quiet hallway. 

“There is an entrance for special guests,” Emily said, almost reluctant. “There’s usually no one there, so you can pass through unnoticed.”

“Got it,” Daud dully replied and called Billie. She appeared in a few seconds: Emily fearfully jumped back but quickly got a grip on herself, balling her hands into fists. 

“You’ll go with her, Lady Emily,” Daud said, his mouth dry. Emily, very unfavorably, looked first at him, then at Billie’s gas mask. She probably remembered too well how a man in such a mask had grabbed her, pulling her away from her father and dead mother, and then had carried her away from home. 

“Understood,” she grumbled and raised her chin.

“Don’t wait for me,” Daud told Billie. She nodded. “There’s something else I need to do.”

Emily looked at him as though she knew he was about to kill.

Such a look made Daud feel unexpectedly ashamed.

He watched Billie and Emily as they went out of sight into the hallway; Billie resolved not to carry her, though that would have been faster. Daud could probably guess why. Although at times it seemed to him that, amongst his people, only he alone felt the guilt.

He gave a sharp shake of his head, tightly squeezed the hilt of the sword and concentrated on the Pendletons.

  
   

*** 

  
   

“I told you not to wait for me,” Daud said, nervously glancing at Emily. She was worrying with her heel a piece of tiling that came off from the roof. Thomas positioned himself behind Daud, as if he was wary of coming too close to the girl.

“Yeah, you talk a lot in general,” Billie grunted to the side. It was like she was offended at being appointed to babysit. Daud took notice, but said nothing. “Her Highness expressed the desire to wait.”

Daud once again stared at Emily. Emily was looking at the tiling, but Daud thought she looked a little flushed.

“I just liked being on the roof, that’s all,” she said.

Daud did not respond, just breathed a lengthy sigh and sheathed his sword. 

“Let’s go.”

In the end, Her Highness needed to be carried. That way was faster. Emily griped at first, then demonstrated an offended innocence, but very soon stopped putting on airs and Daud finally saw a kid in her. A kid who enjoyed speed and wind in her face, who fearfully grabbed his shoulder at any move too careless and sharp. Daud felt a little relieved from these thoughts. Seeing this kind of Emily was a little more calming.

And yet, her hands near his throat still unnerved.

As though her thin small hands could snap his neck.

Daud periodically felt the urge to unhitch her from his neck and hand her over to Billie or Thomas. 

They reached the Flooded District quickly. Daud set the heiress down on the floor as soon as they ended up inside (through the roof, of course). She looked around in her odd manner. Daud thought that this place suited the future empress no more than a dubious establishment for the rich.

Emily looked at him intently and said,

“I want to see my father.”

Her voice hitched a little on the last word. So unused she was to saying it. But Daud nodded, and by force of habit glanced through the Void. That didn’t bring anything, Daud inwardly swore and told Thomas to call Corvo.

The latter entered after half a minute and raised to them his indifferent gaze.

“Corvo!”

Emily dashed to him, quickly tapped her heels on the stairs as soon as she saw him, clutched at his wide palms, grabbed at him, trying to hug him as tightly as possible. A cold lump lodged in Daud’s throat when he saw that Corvo merely looked at her in return, slightly bending towards her. He didn’t hurry to return the embrace.

Emily pulled back, stared at his expressionless face, at the brand, and demandingly tugged on his hand.

“Corvo?”

_By the Outsider, answer her, damn you, this is your daughter!_

Daud pressed his lips until they went white lest the words tear out.

Corvo didn’t respond. He calmly looked at her and merely uttered,

“It’s good that you’re here, Lady Emily.” 

Emily wrinkled her nose and pulled away from him, looking confused and lost. She swallowed, looked to Daud as if seeking some sort of support, and then stared at her father again.

Her eyes gleamed with wet.

Daud didn’t believe what he saw.

A few hours ago, the same girl practically scared him with determination and thirst for revenge in her eyes, and now she suddenly burst into tears because of the way Corvo looked at her.

By the Outsider, this family was going to bring him to his grave. 

Billie appeared in the doors and Emily almost slammed into her as she fled. Billie flinched, darting away from the child like from fire, and looked at Daud. The latter just stood there, lost.

This was all too much.

He could feel his determination slipping through his fingers. 

How was he going to fix everything?

“Prepare some decent room for the girl,” he uttered with effort, having come down to the main floor. Billie nodded, and without asking again left after the heiress. 

“Why did she run away?”

The Tranquil had a pleasant monotone voice. Daud closed the heavy door behind Billie and pulled in a long breath, trying to get a grip on himself. Something boiled and blustered in his chest, his mark prickled. Corvo just sat calmly in an old creaky chair, his hands folded in his lap. His gaze showed only serene calm—Daud still thought it eerie. To him, fairly closely familiar with the Outsider, Tranquility seemed a fate worse than death. Before meeting Corvo, he’s never interacted with Tranquil closely.

And now he’s brought another one into existence.

“Because… it’s complicated.”

Corvo tilted his head to the side.

“Complicated?”

“You’re her father.”

“I know.”

Corvo was so impassive that Daud wanted to put his temple to the doorframe, just to see if his expression would change.

“You’re not acting like her father.”

“I remember being very attached to her, but I don’t remember why.”

Daud dragged his hand over his face.

“I remember how my heart would pound and my hands would get very cold,” Corvo suddenly said, and goosebumps slithered down Daud’s back when he raised his eyes: Corvo was looking at him straight on, blinking rarely, not breaking eye contact. His empty eyes reflected dancing flares from the candlelight. “Before the Rite. But I don’t remember why.”

“Because you were afraid,” Daud responded hoarsely.

“I don’t remember what fear is.”

This was so difficult. He was so difficult. How to end this? How to fix? Daud pressed his lips and turned away. 

“Just be with your daughter,” he threw over his shoulder in annoyance and headed to his personal shrine.

“It doesn’t look like she’s very happy to see me,” Corvo said. Daud flinched and whipped around, glaring with boiling anger.

“She’s happy to see you. Just not this kind of you, she expected to come back to a loving father, not—”

“I cannot love.”

Daud closed his eyes. 

Inhaled, felt how his mark began giving off a faint buzzing. He shook out his hand and looked at Corvo again, and something coiled painfully in his chest. 

“At least pretend that you love her,” he uttered with effort; all of a sudden, breathing came so difficult. Corvo shrugged and walked past him, lightly brushing against his shoulder. Daud felt a whiff of his warmth, greedily sucked in the air through clenched teeth and threw his head back to the sky. His heart hammered in his throat.

“You’re so impossible, Attano,” he whispered hoarsely when the door closed behind Corvo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: this is fine**


	5. Chapter 5

  
   

       ** _Billie_**

    

“He didn’t suspect anything?”

Delilah was sitting in front of the vanity, lazily choosing and matching earrings. Billie didn’t know what she was matching them to: she was in the nude, only vines protruded from her body here and there akin to veins.

“No,” she answered tiredly and closed her eyes. Her head was spinning. From the suffocating flower scent, probably. And from Delilah. “He’s too busy with his… Tranquil.”

Delilah gave an ambiguous curt hum and turned around to face her. Billie blinked and looked her over. 

Unlike Daud’s, Delilah’s mark wasn’t on her hand. Prior to ending up unclothed together in this bedroom, Billie was terribly curious as to where it was. When she saw, she remembered right away what people said on the streets: the Outsider leaves his mark where he first touches a person with his lips. Billie looked once again to the place where Delilah’s mark was and internally shuddered. If that was true, then Delilah had to be given credit: not everybody could… seduce a god at the first meeting. Or how did it happen? Billie was wary of asking. Delilah, of course, noticed her stare but stayed silent, smiling slyly. 

“And you’re jealous of your daddy?” she tilted her head to the side. Billie wrinkled her nose and turned away.

“He’s not my daddy.”

“Oh yes.”

Billie didn’t feel like bickering. She was very confused. And very tired. Things with Daud were going totally not the way she’d once wanted them to. He wasn’t like himself, and that was simply stifling. Billie couldn’t have even imagined that a contract for the empress’ assassination would break him. It seemed like it should have been the opposite. He should have liked a job of such a scale. Quieter than a breeze, he’d gotten into homes of the nobility and killed without blinking an eye. And now, for some reason, his conscience was eating at him, so much so that first he dragged a framed Lord Protector to their lair, and now a rightful heiress to the throne. 

Delilah approached and lay down next to her on the bed. She stretched, squinting in contentment like a cat and folded her arms under her chest. What did she put her earrings on for?

Billie sat up, pulled her knees up to her chest and quieted down for a time, looking at Delilah’s mark, trying to not think of the Outsider. That was difficult; Billie was constantly surrounded by those who practically breathed him. 

“You wish to tell me something?” Delilah asked almost playfully, but as soon as Billie nodded she sat up as well and narrowed her eyes, as Billie thought, very unfavorably. “Well?”

“Daud took the heiress out of the Golden Cat. We have her.”

“And you’re telling me this only now?” Delilah’s voice, soft and almost warm before, turned to ice in a second. 

“Daud brought her literally yesterday,” answered Billie, with effort maintaining her calm tone. 

“Hm,” Delilah jerked her head and softened up. Her gaze became calmer. She pensively looked Billie over and smiled. “Well… three birds with one stone.”

Billie didn’t like her smile, but said nothing.

Was this not what she wanted?

The doubt that kept scraping her skull suddenly turned sharp and coarse.

How stupid. Billie forced herself to take a breath and stop feeling like this. When she met Delilah, for some reason she felt stronger and more assured. Now was different—it was like she once again became that little girl from the street who was afraid to come out into the light.

Billie hated helplessness. The kind that she felt before herself or Daud, especially.

“What’s with that face?” Delilah teased, poking her under the chin with one of her very sharp nails. Billie thought, Delilah had no need of knives, she could rend someone’s throat with her nails alone.

“It’s fine,” Billie waved her off, moving away from her, thinking that, maybe, she made a mistake somewhere after all.

Jumped the gun.

She thought, Daud grew weak and wasn’t fit for the role of leader any longer. She knew perfectly well that Daud was preparing her as his successor: one day she would have to lead the Whalers, and after the empress’ murder she decided it was time.

Perhaps the decision was stupid, but going back now would be even more so.

“There there, I understand,” Delilah’s voice resembled purring, but Billie was trying not to fool herself. She spoke so sweetly only when she knew she could get something out of it. Billie was under no illusion: she was being played left and right, Delilah held no deep affections for her. But they were helping each other, the deal was mutually beneficial. Seemingly. “But think about the fact that the Whalers will be yours.”

“Why do you want him dead?” Billie asked, realizing that Delilah’s motivation was quite ambiguous to her.

“Too many marked in one territory birthes a sort of competition,” she pensively said, and it explained little. “We all have our goals here, and we don’t speak of them all out loud. Is it not so?”

Could the Outsider set the marked against one another? Out of curiosity to see how equally-matched opponents would act?

Maybe the thought was stupid. Billie knew about the Outsider only from what Daud has told her: and even so, his descriptions fluctuated between “kind god” and “black-eyed bastard”, and so it was difficult to see what the truth was.

“What will happen to the girl?” Billie asked all of a sudden, and Delilah raised her eyebrows.

“And why would you care?” she scoffed, somehow very unsavorily.

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

    

“We still believe that it will be better if you hand Lady Emily over to us,” said Lord Pendleton. Daud heaved a sigh, closed his eyes and mentally counted to three. It didn't help. Then he opened his eyes and gritted through his teeth,

“I thought we already discussed this.”

Lord Pendleton gave a reserved shake of his head.

“We are still the ones with the resources needed to return Lady Emily to the throne.”

“What resources?” Daud didn’t hold in a scoff. “An aristocrat, a former military man, and a former Overseer? I thought this was about safety,” he tilted his head to the side and felt an unfavorable pull on his insides. “I’m starting to find your wish to keep Corvo and Emily close suspicious.”

“What do you dare to accuse us of?!” the Lord exclaimed, throwing up his hands. Havelock called him off.

“We, too, are starting to find your wish to keep Corvo and Emily close suspicious,” he said with utter seriousness. Well, the remark was fair. Daud didn’t answer. Laying out his goals in front of them was the last thing he needed to do. “We pay, you effectuate—is that not how you work?”

“That’s how I work when the job concerns killing some lord,” Daud glanced at a reddened from anger Lord Pendleton, “or lady. This one is a bit of a larger matter, you aren’t the only ones who’ll be living in this empire.”

“Just where is this dedication coming from,” Lord Pendleton gritted out.

Daud didn’t pay him any mind.

“Well, is there anything else for me to do?” Daud stared at Havelock. “Or will there be no new contracts while I keep Lady Emily with me?” he couldn’t keep the venom out of his voice. Lord Pendleton pursed his lips. He clearly did not favor the fact that they really needed Daud. They also evidently preferred to not have to do any dirty work themselves.

Not to mention they’d just expose the rest of the conspiracy if they tried to take this into their own hands.

Lord Pendleton was looking at Daud with such malice, as though his hands were itching to lodge a few bullets in him.

Daud remembered his thought about the possibility of these men wanting to end him and decided it worthwhile to set up surveillance over the pub. Reinsurance wouldn’t hurt. Besides, turning in the real murderer and coming out of the situation as heroes seemed to him like a plan that was fairly logical and very easy to carry out in the given circumstances. All that was left to do was find out whether they’d thought of something like this at all.

If yes, they wouldn’t be getting rid of him right now. They’d wait until all the dirty work was done, and then reveal Her Majesty’s real killer to the public. Daud curtly glanced at the silent Martin, thinking that he’d be the first to think up such a scheme.

Daud has never had any problems with reading people. Maybe it was due to his connection with the Void, maybe he developed this skill in the years of his “career”, but he was completely positive that at least one of them (Lord Pendleton, of course) would want to grab the empire for himself.

Daud realized long ago: paranoia could save his life, so he didn’t plan on repressing it.

“There’s a footnote in Campbell’s journal that tells us the Lord Regent’s mistress sat for a portrait with Anton Sokolov, the painter. He’ll be able to give us her name,” said Havelock.

“Not an assassination, but a kidnap job?” Daud raised his eyebrows at the familiar name.

“Precisely.”

“Or can you not shoulder this kind of work?” Lord Pendleton jeered. Daud was inwardly pleased that everyone present looked at the man with displeasure, and not just him. Lord Pendleton took notice, tightened his lips and fixed his eyes on the glass he was twirling in his hand.

“What’s so valuable about the Lord Regent’s mistress?” Daud said. “Want to make him nervous?”

“She is funding his army,” Havelock replied gravely. “But it’ll also make him nervous, yes. Sokolov lives on Kaldwin’s Bridge about half the time, especially recently. Just don’t kill him. Information isn’t all we need him for.” 

Daud wanted to squeeze in a gibe, but did not.

“You going to threaten to pay only if I bring you the heiress again?”

“Not at all,” replied Havelock, throwing Lord Pendleton an unfavorable glance, and handed the money to Daud.

The coins clanked pleasantly when Daud took the pouch out of his hand.

When Daud left and moved a good distance away he called Thomas and the rest that accompanied him. They appeared before him in an instant, and Daud, pensively tossing the coin purse from hand to hand, said,

“Set up surveillance over the pub and listen to their conversations. We don’t want any surprises.”

Thomas nodded and disappeared without questions, and the rest went after him.

Having returned to the base, Daud sent a few Whalers to investigate the situation in the area of Sokolov’s house, then nervously looked for Corvo through the Void. He saw only a small figure of a child, remembered himself, recalling the fact that Corvo did not reflect in the Void, and mentally swore.

Emily seemed impossibly small. Daud remembered her gaze filled with hatred and shuddered. The heiress wasn’t at all defenseless: Outsider’s sake, were she a decade older she’d have cut open the Lord Regent’s throat by herself and sent Daud into the Void. 

The Whalers returned fairly soon and gloomily said that the bridge couldn’t be crossed just like that. Lots of guards, walls of light that Sokolov himself invented in the first place; besides, the bridge was literally blocked. There wouldn’t be any problems with the latter, the mark will solve them. As for everything else… Daud thought to send the Whalers after Sokolov. He didn’t see him as important as the Loyalists claimed; moreover, he always passed such kidnap jobs to someone from his men.

Daud couldn’t reach Billie. She left the previous night and Daud didn’t ask where. He trusted her, she could have had her personal matters and he didn’t see anything wrong with that. Only, what could she have been doing for so long? And where was she in the first place, if their bond didn’t reach her?

Daud leaned with his hip on the edge of the desk, took off his gloves and rubbed his face, eyes clenched. His eyes stung like there was sand in them. He really didn’t want to cross paths with Corvo. 

Daud heard footsteps, heaved a sigh and raised his head.

Oh, by the Outsider, it was Emily. She took a timid peek into the room, saw him, unfavorably narrowed her eyes (Daud felt a pang of cold at that gaze) and went in at last.

“What did you want, Your Highness?” Daud asked tiredly, thinking that it’d be much easier if Emily just stabbed a knife into his chest.

It was wrong to think like that about a young girl. She was a child, she couldn’t… kill.

As a matter of fact, Daud wasn’t much older than her when he took his first life. Only, it seemed to him that at ten he hadn’t been capable of looking at the world as fearsomely as Emily did. 

Well, that didn’t matter, as he wasn’t capable now, either.

“I’m tired of sitting still,” she grunted. Her eyes suddenly stopped at something behind Daud, and the latter once again remembered about the empress’ portrait and once again thought that he needed to take it down. However, Emily didn’t stare at it for long, and it didn’t look like its presence impressed her much. “Besides, Corvo… he… He explained to me what’s wrong with him, but I still don’t understand at all! How can he not remember!”

“He remembers,” Daud retorted, slow and wary, as though it was scary to give voice while she was near. Emily stared at him, looking almost offended. “He just doesn’t feel. It’s… temporary.”

“Temporary?”

“I hope so.”

Emily pursed her lips. Now she looked crushed, though that didn’t make her any less menacing. 

Daud remembered himself and reached for his gloves.

Emily’s eyes glinted all of a sudden.

“Is that the mark of the Outsider?” she asked almost in a whisper, stepping in his direction. Daud froze in surprise, then nodded and left his marked hand ungloved. Of course, everyone knew of the Outsider, why would he be so surprised at the young heiress’ awareness?

“Yes.”

Emily came even closer and curiously stared at the black outlines. She looked as if she wanted badly to touch, but dared not ask, and Daud dared not offer.

He suddenly felt very stupid.

Clearly, he wasn’t very good at interacting with children. Especially those he left bereft of a mother. And father.

“They say that if a Tranquil touches the Void, the brand will disappear,” said Daud in a low voice, and Emily raised her suddenly serious gaze to his face. Then she once again looked at the mark and nodded with the same seriousness, as if with complete understanding of the situation.

“Then you should touch Corvo more often,” she said.

Daud choked on air.

Maybe he shouldn’t give her false hope.

Maybe nothing of the sort would happen. Maybe these were just stupid rumors, of which there were many about the Outsider. People said lots of things about him and the Void, the Overseers spun many tales. 

Maybe this was just one of them.

Daud left the heiress in the room, having given her leave to go where she wanted. Let her. She was under the Whalers’ constant supervision anyway, she wouldn’t go far.

He went upstairs and saw a piece of paper that somebody left on the trunk by his bed. Daud uncertainly picked it up, turned it over, and saw a crooked mark of the Outsider. It was clearly drawn not by a child’s hand, this wasn’t Emily’s doing.

Could it be Corvo’s?

Daud carefully traced the lines of the crooked mark with his finger, took off his glove to compare. Yes, it was very deformed in the drawing—Corvo only saw it a couple of times, after all.

“You called?”

Daud started, almost dropping the paper. He rolled it up, hiding it from Billie, turned to her and nodded. She looked to be out of breath. Daud decided not to ask where she’s been and what she’s been doing this whole time.

“Take some men, if you need, and go after Sokolov,” Daud said. “And no killing! You’ll bring him to the Loyalists.”

“And you aren’t going yourself because of back pain?” Billie gibed.

Daud pressed his lips, heard a chuckle, and Billie soon went out of sight. 

He let out a heavy breath and lay down, then stared at the drawing again.

Why did Corvo leave it here?

Daud first thought to crumple it up, but then decided against it. He rolled it up carefully and then dropped it under the bed through the gap between its frame and the wall. He did that with many important papers that he never came back to in the end. There was probably a whole heap under his bed by now, but Daud didn’t want to look.

The sun was leaning towards the horizon, it got dark inside the buildings. Daud didn’t light any candles or lanterns, preferring to look through the Void if need be. He couldn’t go to sleep for a long time, just looked at the cloudy sky, trying not to think about anything. Thoughts jumped around, layered on top of one another, and Daud was almost glad for that.

Having fragmental thoughts about everything at once was much easier than not thinking at all, and it didn’t bother him.

A long time passed before morning. Daud fell into shallow sleep a few times, woke every hour, and, it seemed, tired himself out in a night spent in bed more than he would have had he went after Sokolov himself. His body ached. His back ached when he lay on it, his arm and hip ached when he turned onto his side, his neck gave a piece of its mind when he turned onto his stomach.

Daud got up at first signs of a muddy dawn. He wandered around the room aimlessly, went downstairs, paid a visit to the shrine, then came out onto the roof, deeply breathing in the cold moist air, barely repressing a cold shudder. He aimlessly went around the entire base; sleepy Whalers with no set schedules sat around on the edges of roofs or half-collapsed stories. 

When Daud returned to his “bedroom” the sun fully came up. A few minutes later the door quietly slammed downstairs: Daud flinched and saw Corvo. The latter raised his eyes to him, wandered around the room for a bit and then suddenly came upstairs.

“What did you want?” Daud asked and froze on the spot, watching the Tranquil’s fluent movements. 

Corvo sat down on his bed, and unexpected heat flared up in Daud on the inside. He inhaled through parted lips in surprise and forced himself to calm down. Corvo looked completely serene, his eyes were as extinguished as always, but he suddenly said,

“I want to look at the mark. May I?”

Daud counted to five in his mind, but it didn’t help.

His mouth went dry. He nodded, took the glove off his left hand and sat down on the bed, holding his breath because Corvo immediately reached for his hand. His fingers were cool and very delicate despite looking clumsy due to their size.

Daud suddenly thought that a Tranquil wouldn’t say no. His heart painfully hit the ribs and he raised his eyes to the brand on Corvo’s forehead. The thought disappeared instantly, leaving a disgusting aftertaste in its place.

If they had met somehow differently…

And could there have been a “differently” at all?

Daud remembered Serkonos. People talked that the Lord Protector was from there. They could have bumped into each other there, still in childhood, when the warm sea was enough to forget about everything.

Stupid.

He suddenly realized that he missed the clear, humid Serkonan nights. Daud hadn’t thought about his homeland for almost twenty-five years. His mother used to say that the island was in some ways similar to Pandyssia.

Corvo was tracing his fingers over the mark, as though remembering the lines so he could draw them a little better than the previous time.

Speaking of which.

“Why did you draw it?” Daud asked in a hoarse voice, and Corvo shrugged.

“No reason. I didn’t have anything to do.”

Perhaps he was subconsciously drawn to the Void, if it was possible. Daud didn’t comment, his pounding heart didn’t let him think.

Daud clenched a fist, the mark prickled and then lit up.

“Do you see this?”

“See what?” Corvo asked, and Daud opened his hand in disappointment. So that’s how it was. It was almost hurtful. 

“Nothing.”

The room grew colder and Billie appeared after a second. Daud tore his hand away from Corvo so nervously as though some Overseer caught him for violating the sixth Stricture. He stood up right then, quickly putting his glove back on. It seemed that Billie somehow hesitated before speaking.

“Sokolov is with the Loyalists,” she informed in an odd tone. Daud nodded, shaking his hand out. He seemed to feel a light prickling, as if he’d touched a bonecharm or a rune, but the mark couldn’t react to Corvo in any way.

Just in case, Daud side-eyed him through the Void. Corvo still wasn’t perceived as alive.

“They want to see you,” Billie continued, bringing attention back to her. Daud looked at her without blinking the black away from his eyes, and Billie’s gaze scalded him.

“Of course they do,” Daud grunted just so he could get rid of thoughts about Corvo sooner. Billie’s expression was hidden beneath the gas mask, but Daud still felt like she was looking either judgmentally, either with mocking interest. Maybe both.

Daud threw another glance at Corvo and transversed onto the roof.

Sokolov and Daud had… history. Said history birthed several of Daud’s portraits. A rumor had even reached him once, that one of those, painted from the back, hung in the hall of the Academy. The history was very strange and Daud preferred not to recall it. 

“Your men did the job well,” Martin told Daud as soon as he came into view. Daud heaved a sigh. The day that has just begun clearly promised to not go by peacefully. “Not a single guard noticed the abduction.”

“That’s because my men are professionals,” Daud replied practically without malice. The Overseers’ symbols on Martin’s clothes irritated his eyes too much.

“Havelock is waiting for you at the old kennel.”

Lord Pendleton stood before the entrance, leaning against the railing. Daud merely shot him a glance and walked past him. The man said nothing and Daud didn’t even get an urge to kill him again.

The last time Daud saw Anton Sokolov was around fifteen years ago. Fifteen years was, of course, a fairly long period of time, but Sokolov aged more noticeably than he should have. Life certainly hasn’t treated him kindly. Daud was the one doing the dangerous jobs, and he didn’t change all that much in fifteen years, only acquired more scars. Sokolov, according to rumors, drank a lot and in general led a pretty loose lifestyle. Perhaps that was what affected him, but he looked much worse than he should have for his fifty-something years. He should be around that age, if Daud remembered correctly.

Why did he remember that at all?

Sokolov was standing in the cage with a look of an offended genius. Daud recognized this expression in the eyes as well as under the untidy beard covering most of his face. He saw him very often—back then, fifteen years ago.

Sokolov loved to pretend to be an offended genius, only, it was difficult to offend him. At least back then.

“I just knew this was your doing,” said Sokolov as soon as Daud appeared in his line of sight. His voice, ruined by heavy drinking and smoking, sounded rougher. Daud sighed, waiting for the chill at his spine to pass.

“You two know each other?” Havelock asked and Daud bit down on the tip of his tongue, hoping that Sokolov wouldn’t go blurting too much.

Sokolov stopped pretending to be an offended genius and brightened up.

“Old story,” Daud gritted through his teeth. Sokolov hummed. Lengthily, sarcastically, and very unfavorably.

“Oh yes. What a story.”

Daud heavily breathed in and, just as heavily, breathed out.

“Let’s get straight to the point,” he practically asked, looking at Havelock. Havelock looked back with a slight raise to his eyebrows, but did not argue, for which Daud was almost thankful. “All we need is the name of the Lord Regent’s mistress. It’s very simple.”

Sokolov narrowed his eyes slyly—Daud knew that expression so well—and looked at him.

Just you dare say anything…

“I’ll tell you, if your dear assassin keeps me company over a drink.” 

Havelock tactfully coughed.

“We don’t have time for this,” Daud replied acidly and leaned against the wall, putting more distance between Sokolov and him. He folded his arms on his chest, feeling a sudden urge to smoke. In recent times Daud smoked rarely: he held no particular love for it, but now the desire even made his throat tight. 

“Daud’s right,” Havelock said. Sokolov sighed woefully and shrugged.

“Outsider damn you,” Daud swore. Sokolov gave a very odd hum.

They had to ask Havelock to leave them, and of course Daud did not enter the cage. Not because he didn’t want to stand closer to Sokolov. He was just afraid that he wouldn’t be able to hold back and would just kill him for all those sharp equivocal phrases. Fifteen years have passed.

Mistakes of the past would haunt Daud forever. 

Alcohol softened Sokolov up. It also made Daud angrier.

“I can tell you this much: she was always referred to as Lady Boyle. I painted her, to be sure, but I never saw her face, or learned her first name. You see, I painted her from behind,” he said, and Daud narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “But I can assure you: you won’t find a backside like that in the whole empire…” Sokolov suddenly turned to him, and Daud missed his chance to cut him off: “well, not counting yours, of course.”

Havelock, who returned right then, indecently loudly choked on air.

Daud counted to ten in his head.

Sokolov was lucky to be in a cage.

“You can thank the Knife of Dunwall for the information,” Sokolov gibed. “I was to be introduced to Lady Boyle at a masked ball in her honor this very night. But I will miss that party, it seems.”

Daud wanted to put in a snide remark of his own, but at the same time didn’t want to bring too much of Sokolov’s attention to himself.

He heard about the Boyles. All three of them. The ladies were famous, often held wealthy parties, a couple of which Daud even got a chance to attend. Finding and quietly killing a target in a merry crowd wasn’t all that difficult. 

Daud slipped out of the building, leaving Sokolov by himself. Havelock came out after him. He looked uncomfortably thoughtful. 

“I won’t ask about your shared past,” he said.

“Good,” replied Daud in a cold glum tone that promised payback. “I got the task, we’ll take care of your Lady Boyle. Just spare me from any future interactions with the bright mind.” 

Havelock tactfully coughed. 

Daud hitched his shoulders in a shrug. 

“We’ll deal with the payment later,” he grunted and disappeared on the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn’t imagine the dubious fat indications to a dubious pairing, they’re exactly that. Thanks to a single line from the wiki.
> 
> ____
> 
>  
> 
> **T/N: screams**


	6. Chapter 6

  
   

       ** _Corvo_**

    

Emily was sitting on the dusty floor, drawing. Corvo asked her to move to the bed, but the heiress just waved him off, and he didn’t insist or argue for it was pointless.

Emily was rude with him. Snapped at him, was angry at something, and Corvo suspected that it was because his behavior wasn’t meeting her expectations. That was… regrettable. But Corvo could do nothing about it. Daud had told him to at least feign love, but Corvo could not at all manage it. He saw no point in pretending. 

However, sometimes Emily was in a good mood. Like now. She was drawing, frequently reaching for a pencil of a new color. The Whalers had brought them to her. Corvo found it pleasing to observe her. It was pacifying. 

He remembered well how Jessamine used to keep busy in the Tower, and Emily, in the time free from her lessons, would sit by her desk and draw. Corvo would always be there as well, lovingly watching his daughter, and, it seemed, something would scrape him on the inside because of the fact that he could be a father to her only when the three of them were together.

Now, Corvo wasn’t sure what “lovingly” meant. He was simply watching. 

Emily finished her drawing, stood up, approached and handed the paper to him with a very serious expression. 

Corvo took it from the child’s hands. The paper depicted him—there was no brand on the forehead, he was smiling, and, above, “daddy” was written in fat letters.

“It’s a gift,” Emily said.

“Thank you,” Corvo replied softly and quickly found an appropriate assessment for the drawing. “It’s very nice.”

Emily beamed, it seemed; her demeanor grew a little warmer. She gave a tentative smile and sat back down to draw.

Corvo looked back at the paper and touched the forehead of the drawn version of himself. Then raised his hand and touched his own. The brand felt rough beneath his fingers, scratched the pads. Corvo scraped it with his nail: it ached a little bit, and it was as if the skin around it was numb. It felt unpleasant, so Corvo brought his hand back down and decided to not touch the brand again.

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

    

The alarmed guards clamored somewhere below, while Daud settled in an abandoned building exactly opposite of the Boyle mansion. He was lazily and unhurriedly cleaning the blood from his sword. Identifying the right Lady Boyle and taking her out was child’s play, only, Daud couldn’t resist and shoved the blade under an Overseer’s mask. The man was just unfortunate in passing by. Daud had no time to hide two bodies, so he had to leave them as was. He himself left the mansion with ease.

Daud really didn’t want to go back to the Loyalists (and Sokolov), so he decided to wait until dawn, then pop into the base and only then report the job’s success, though by that point they might find out by themselves. Seeing as Daud left a trail, the news would spread very quickly. 

Even better.

The Lord Regent would surely go mad from the paranoia. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to kill him.

Daud huffed at the thought. Of course he’d have to.

He watched as wealthy guests drove off from the mansion. Nobody wanted to stick around in a place one of the owners of which was just murdered.

When all the party lights went out and the guards quieted down, Daud at last unfroze and headed to the Flooded District. A reluctant dawn was already breaking on the horizon. The sky was cloudless, but the sun always shone dimly in Dunwall.

By the time Daud returned to the base it was already up. After the cloudless night the sky was blanketed with a thick sheet of clouds which the sun rays could not pierce. It looked like it would start raining any minute, but the rain didn’t come, and the heavy sky kept weighing down. It was tiring.

The first thing Daud did upon returning was get in bed and sleep for a few hours. Then he shoved some food into himself, visited the shrine and simply sat for a while, leaning with his back on the wall and clutching a rune in his hands. He felt very tired, and wanted to just spend a couple of lives sitting like this. 

But Daud still had things to do. 

Corvo showed up in the work area. The man was staring at the empress’ portrait again, the one Daud still hasn’t taken down. Once again he made a mental note to himself to put it away, tear it and burn it, though it was unlikely that that would help.

And he couldn’t really bring himself to do it. 

In the past six months the empress looked from the portrait in a very judgmental manner. Of course, it was stupid to think so, seeing that a pencil sketch couldn’t judge him, but the thought brought a sort of unhealthy solace that came tightly knit with the constant self-flagellation. He’d even dreamed about Jessamine at first.

Those tied with the Void had very vivid dreams. 

In the first month Daud couldn’t shake off the nightmare: the empress’ body lying before him, soaking his hands with blood, and this blood on the stone forming into an infinitely repeating _**“YOU KILLED HER”**_.

“Emily likes to draw very much,” Corvo spoke all of a sudden. He was holding a neatly rolled-up piece of paper: Daud took note of the pencil lines but couldn’t make anything out. He didn’t ask. Most likely, Corvo was holding the child’s drawing, and Daud did not at all want to look at it, lest he break for good. “She already begged your Whalers to bring her a sketchpad and pencils.”

Daud didn’t know why “everyday” details suddenly stung him like this. He knew perfectly well that all his victims had had full lives, had people they’d held on to. They’d had hobbies, loved somebody or somebody loved them. But that never concerned him. In the end, everybody lived and died, anyone’s life could break, and not necessarily by an assassin’s hand. 

But now everything was different and it was exhausting. 

“Only, I never saw Emily draw her,” Corvo nodded at Jessamine’s portrait and Daud’s insides twisted into knots. 

Perhaps Corvo simply didn’t understand that the kid was hurting.

You aren’t capable of empathy when you can’t feel.

“Master Daud,” Thomas appeared practically right in front of him: Daud internally jumped and took a step back so as to not see double. “We have information on the Loyalists.”

“Speak.”

Thomas side-eyed Corvo, who showed no interest in either of them. 

“We managed to listen in on a conversation. They want to take you out after taking care of the Lord Regent.”

Daud exhaled. He’s been expecting this, and wasn’t in the least disappointed. Idealists should always be suspected first.

“Well, I suspected that we’d need to get rid of them,” he said. “Understood. We’ll take care of them. You’re free for now.”

Thomas nodded and disappeared. Daud turned to Corvo. The latter was still fiddling with the rolled-up paper.

“You’re planning to kill them?” he asked, having raised his eyes to Daud.

Daud nodded.

“Good,” Corvo replied. Daud’s been expecting the man to agree with this decision (and why would’t he?), but it was still nice to hear it.

“When I’m finished with them, we’ll deal with the throne ourselves.”

Daud thought that Corvo must understand the workings of politics and the empire. He’s lived for so many years at court.

“The Loyalists were right in taking out the Lord Regent’s support gradually,” Corvo said. “Though I always found it suspicious that they took it upon themselves in the first place.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Daud hummed curtly.

“Because you also noticed it,” Corvo replied, and Daud suddenly thought that he was a lot like the Outsider with that calm monotone voice. “But in any case, you needed them to guide you to your next steps. Now, when the main target is certain, they are no longer needed.”

Daud almost liked the cynicism in Corvo’s words. If it was that, of course. Could he be cynical in this state? Or was this simply rational reasoning?

In any case, any amount of support was nice. Especially from Corvo.

“Alright, I’ll try not to take too long.”

Corvo inclined his head slightly, and the light fell in a way that made it seemed like he smiled. With an effort, Daud retained his breathing. It was simply a pleasing illusion, nothing more.

“Good luck,” Corvo wished him.

Once again, for some reason Billie was nowhere to be found. Summoning her through their bond wasn’t working, a quick search around the perimeter brought nothing. Daud wasn’t going to wait and also didn’t call anyone. He’ll deal with them himself. Besides, killing three men while they all were still pretending to be friends wasn’t that difficult. They might not even notice. 

Though, Daud wanted them to notice him.

He didn’t know whose idea it was, but he was leaning towards Lord Pendleton. The man tried too desperately to be important. Havelock was obviously playing an important part in all of this, as well—most likely, he was the one aspiring for the role of Lord Regent.

Something told Daud that he wouldn’t be much better than Burrows.

He very quickly arrived at the pub. Propelled by anger, no doubt. At the door he bumped into Martin and was about to pass him by, for some reason not resolving to kill him first.

“Daud, wait.” Martin suddenly put a hand on Daud’s chest, who almost jumped back. He complied and stopped, drilling the Overseer with his eyes, trying not to pay any mind to the symbols on his sleeves. “I need to speak with you. Not here.”

“About what?” Daud took a step back after all, frowning. His hands itched to snap the Overseer’s neck. Martin looked very grave and anxious, and also pale. His problems were of no interest to Daud. 

“It concerns Lady Emily. And the empire.”

Daud narrowed his eyes.

By the Outsider, if the Loyalists had a split among them— that was hilarious.

Frame the Lord Protector, rescue the Lord Protector, kill those who paid to rescue the Lord Protector…

“Let’s go.”

Martin led him into a blocked-off alley behind the pub, pulled him around a corner and stopped, nervously peeking out as if they could have been watched. Daud leaned with his back against the dirty wall, arms folded on his chest. Martin, at last, ceased his feverish inspection of the street and turned to him.

“Havelock with Pendleton—”

“—intend to kill me, so that no one stands in their way of seizing power?”

Martin immediately shut up, staring at him in surprise. Then glanced at his left hand. Daud wanted to hum.

“How do you…”

“The Void reveals secrets to those who seek them,” Daud replied in a mysterious tone, then hummed and admitted, “I’m not that much of a fool so as to not set up surveillance over your plot.”

Martin let out a loud exhale.

“And you’re telling me this so that my sword doesn’t catch on you?” Daud placed his hand on the hilt. Now calm, Martin watched the motion, and shook his head.

“You killed the empress for money, but there’s something other than that that makes you tick,” Martin said in a dull, somehow very exhausted, voice, as though he got lost in this world for good. Daud suddenly found that he felt a sort of sympathy for the Overseer. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be personally watching over the heiress and the Lord Protector. I think, Daud, that there’s more to you than… than just a killer.”

_you know nothing about me, how can you even think that_

“Alright,” Daud slowly replied. “And what do you want?”

“If need be, take them out,” he lowered his voice. “After the Regent’s assassination they plan to force you to bring Emily to them, and then take you into custody to hand over to the government. No one will agree to give the title of Lord Regent to a Tranquil, therefore…”

Daud thought about how Corvo would make an ideal Regent by the young ruler’s side: an impartial Tranquil whose actions could only be influenced by objective reasons. As Daud already saw, the Tranquil retained their will.

“Havelock intends to take that post.”

“And why are you letting me in on these plans?” Daud raised his eyebrows. Martin gave an antsy shrug.

“Because this city is suffocating from the plague, and Lord Regent Burrows is doing nothing to save it. Havelock will be the same: he also takes no interest in Dunwall beyond the Tower, he doesn’t care about the hundreds of walking corpses.”

“And you think I care?” Daud asked, and Martin looked at him very intently. As if reaching the Void.

“I think so. Even if I’m wrong, wouldn’t you want to kill those who intend to give you up to the government?”

“Fair,” Daud replied with a scoff.

“They’re in the pub, drinking,” Martin said and lowered his eyes to the floor, as though all of this weighed so heavily on him. 

Daud could guess what he was feeling.

Disappointment.

Oh, Daud knew almost everything about disappointment, and in Martin’s eyes was exactly that. Disappointment akin to despair. Like the Void on the very bad days: when you scream into nothing and no one answers.

“If you get them out of the way, then you will only have to kill Burrows, and it will be done.”

“To be honest, I doubt that it’ll be easy to find a Regent for the heiress now. Or are you planning to take the position for yourself?”

Martin stared at him practically with insult.

“No,” he replied in an utterly serious and cold tone. “Kill Pendleton and Havelock, just don’t touch anyone else. Only the three of us are involved in this… scheme.”

“Tell me something that will convince me for good to not take your head off,” Daud said in a tone that grew heavy, though, as a matter of fact, he didn’t really want to kill Martin anymore.

“I won’t stand in your way. With the help of the notes in Campbell’s diary I can try to be reinstated in the Abbey and participate in the election of the new High Overseer. I have my own way. I just don’t want to be involved in all this dirt of conspiracies.”

“Convinced,” Daud replied and swept past him, mark gleaming.

Pendleton and Havelock were indeed in the pub, they were indeed drinking and livelily discussing something, but at once went silent as soon as Daud showed up in their field of view. He approached, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword, already feeling bubbling rage in tow with some sort of self-satisfaction. Daud knew of their plan, which already put him in the winning position.

He wondered how they intended to seize and lock him up, in order to hand him over to the government later.

Would they use a music box? His insides twisted unpleasantly at the thought.

Oh, Daud hated music boxes. The Overseers made the Outsider out to be the world’s most terrifying evil, but the one who made the music box was distinctly worse.

“You did it,” Lord Pendleton said with satisfaction. “That viper helped the Lord Regent kill the Empress—” he sharply cut himself off, having remembered whom he was talking to, and looked Daud over with a grim gaze. And, it seemed, gave a barely audible huff.

“There is one last target left,” said Havelock. His tone was calm. Daud could barely keep himself from thrusting the blade into his throat. “The Lord Regent went mad with fear. He locked himself in the Tower, together with the last remaining people loyal to him.”

“So that’s it?” Daud asked. “Kill the Lord Regent, and the rightful heiress will assume the throne?”

“Precisely. After you finish with Burrows you will bring Emily here, and we will make it so that she returns on the throne.”

Daud nodded.

He blinked, his eyes filmed over with the black of the Void; time slowed down and ran thick as whale oil, and his ears rang. Daud hit Havelock first. Lord Pendleton also had a weapon, but he wasn’t military, which meant he would react slower. Havelock, however, of course did not fall unconscious from the blow. Daud jerked away, did the same with Lord Pendleton (how long he’s waited for this!) and darted to the side as soon as time returned to its regular course. Havelock jumped up to his feet. Lord Pendleton squealed ungracefully, but right then the sound turned into gurgling. Daud slit his throat in one smooth motion and stepped back so that the blood wouldn’t splatter him. Havelock fired. Daud dodged: his shoulder only got badly grazed, the bullet tore the mackintosh. His mark burned, Daud transversed behind Havelock and shoved his sword between the man’s shoulder blades.

The body fell heavily to the floor.

Daud inhaled loudly, exhaled, and, hearing hurrying footsteps, quickly slipped out of the building, transversed onto the roof and, sitting down, managed to catch his breath. A terrified cry broke out somewhere below.

Daud thought it a shame that he didn’t get more time to savor the killing of those whose heads he wanted to smash at the very first glance.

He quickly called himself to order.

Not right. He was trying to change here.

He had two corpses to prove that. Of course.


	7. Chapter 7

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

    

“Master Daud, we’ve got problems,” Thomas sounded frightened and anxious. “The Overseers somehow discovered our location and—”

“What?”

Daud probably sounded overly loud and menacing. Just now he’d returned to base, his shoulder was still burning after being grazed by a hot bullet. Thomas even zipped his lips and delayed with speaking again.

“The Overseers are looking for you, tearing the place apart, some of ours are captured. Their leader is in your chamber now, and—”

“What about the heiress?” Daud cut him off. “And Corvo?”

“I don’t know, but it’s unlikely they’ll get killed.”

“How did they wind up here in the first place?” Daud was practically growling, and Thomas gave a vague and nervous jerk of his head. “Let’s go. I’m going after the leader, you try to free the rest.”

Thomas nodded and went out of line of sight, having gone on ahead. Daud wasn’t in as much of a hurry. Having risen to the top floors of the half-collapsed building, he perked his ears. Footsteps resounded in the distance, rotten floorboards were squeaking loudly. Daud blinked, eyes filming over with black, and the Void showed people. Lots of people. Daud couldn’t see the Whalers anywhere, he could barely even feel them. Only Thomas, who was nearby.

Daud couldn’t feel Billie at all. He swore under his breath and pulled out his sword. 

Going in a rush wasn’t an option, the Overseers could simply kill the captured Whalers if alarm was raised. 

Although, thoughts of restraint evaporated the moment the first Overseers came into view: they weren’t doing anything, only walked back and forth along the hallway and occasionally checked shelves, trunks, and desks, probably in search of runes or bonecharms.

Daud spit on restraint and pounced.

He took an Overseer’s head off—it fell heavily to his feet with a loud clang of the mask against the floor. The second one started, but couldn’t even take a step to throw himself at him for Daud rammed his sword into his chest.

He was practically shaking with rage.

The ideal plan of saving the empire turned so unsteady all of a sudden, so stupid, as if on the verge of collapsing. Or it has already collapsed! Daud gathered himself and rushed on, stomping too loudly on the rotten floorboards. They heard him: Daud evaded a gunshot’s trajectory, knocked the pistol out of yet another Overseer’s hands and slit his throat.

He wasn’t planning on sparing a single one.

Now Daud was in a hurry. He transversed to the neighboring building, cut open the throats of three more and quickly cut the ropes holding two of his Whalers. They didn’t waste time on gratitude, just nodded at him and darted to look for the others.

Daud reached his office fairly quickly. The Overseers were already alarmed and terribly nervous. Emily was, to no avail, trying to tear her arm out of the hand of one of them. The man didn’t pay her any mind. Corvo was standing calmly next to an Overseer with no mask, who, from the looks of it, was the leader. It looked like no one was expecting any resistance from the Tranquil, so they hadn’t immobilized him in any way. Emily was loudly and aggrievedly calling out to Corvo while trying to batter the Overseer that was holding her with her fist. Of course, that brought nothing.

Rushing in just like that was no longer an option, that much Daud understood. Both Corvo and Emily could be put in harm’s way, and—

By the Outsider.

Corvo suddenly darted so fast no one had any time to react. He shoved the Overseer without a mask to the side, snatched his sword and in one smooth motion chopped off the arm that held Emily.

Emily gave a shriek so loud it was genuinely frightening. Blood spattered, hitting her dust-grayed suit. Emily jumped back, darted under the nearest desk; Corvo finished off the Overseer with no undue delay and, continuing the motion of the sword, slit the leader’s throat. The screams and noises made the others come running, and now Daud stopped being careful.

Corvo, having noticed him, gave him a greeting nod, and in the next second an Overseer with a music box ran into the room. 

Daud swore loudly and dashed to the side. The music slammed into his ears, shooting through the mark with burning pain. Daud gripped his sword more comfortably and was about to make a run to hide, at least somehow, behind a wall, but Corvo was quicker to react. He picked up a pistol from one of the corpses and fired.

The music broke off, the Overseer fell on his side.

Daud pulled in a loud breath, sensed Thomas and several more Whalers nearby, and called them. They didn’t delay, and soon the floor was covered with Overseer blood—it seeped through the rotten planks and probably dripped down onto the lower story.

Daud stopped to catch his breath. The mark prickled from frequent use. He looked at Corvo: the latter, it seemed, wasn’t at all out of a breath. He was covered in blood, so much so it even got on his hair.

Thomas stepped closer and said,

“I found nearly everyone: four dead, most of the captured are freed, but some are still out there. There aren’t so many Overseers now and—”

“Kill them all,” Daud cut him off. Thomas nodded and vanished, and the others went after him. Daud turned to Corvo.

“I can help,” he said, and Daud shook his head, pointing at Emily with his blade.

“Help her.”

In the end, the Overseers were finished quickly. There weren’t enough of them to take a stand against so many Void-touched. They hadn’t managed to relay what happened to the Abbey, which won the Whalers some time. Daud, now fully covered in blood, stopped on the roof of one of the buildings to catch his breath. The Whalers flocked to him, Thomas reported that all the Overseers were dead.

“How did the cursed Overseers find us,” Daud hissed under his breath, not hoping for any answer.

“It’s my fault.”

Daud’s insides jerked; he stared, frozen and tense, at Billie, who appeared out of nowhere. Her face was hidden behind the gas mask, of which he was almost glad.

“I told Delilah and the other Brigmore witches where we were hidden. She wanted me to turn on you, but I can’t go through with it.”

Daud’s breath hitched, cold crawled up his back.

Billie took off the mask. Her expression was that of guilt, but she looked calm. Not afraid.

“My life is in your hands,” she said and suddenly lowered herself to her knees before Daud. He felt sick. It looked wrong.

By the Outsider, why did things happen exactly like this?

“Leave,” said Daud in an unwavering voice, but something inside him cracked and shattered to smithereens. Everything in his life was collapsing, and he could nowhere near get hold of the falling shards. By the Outsider—

Billie looked up at him, terror showed in her gaze. This gaze Daud will remember for the rest of his life. See it in his nightmares from which he will wake in cold sweat. But now, awake, he looked into her eyes, and couldn’t tear his own away. Maybe she’s been waiting for death. And simply didn’t know what to do with the life that was gifted to her.

“Leave!”

Billie flinched. Scrambled away from him, jumped up to her feet and darted away along the rooftops. Daud watched until she disappeared behind yet another building.

That was it.

Daud clenched his fists to the point of pain, shook out a shiver and threw his eyes over the rest of the Whalers. They stood frozen, tense, saying nothing, and Daud couldn’t guess what they were thinking. For the first time ever he regretted the fact that they were wearing gas masks, hiding their faces.

“What are you all looking at!”

They flinched, came alive, and hurried out of his sight.

Daud sucked in a greedy breath, throwing his head back to the murky sky. He took off his glove and on impulse pressed his lips to the mark, clenching his eyes shut. He had to feel like he wasn’t alone in this. Daud felt the world turning its eyes to him; a cold shudder slithered down his back, but the feeling was gone quickly, leaving him empty and broken. 

Daud couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

He met Billie when she was a kid for whom the world was a pair of giant open jaws with fangs. Well—he didn’t meet her. It was she who met him, followed him so that he didn’t even notice. And then Daud taught her what to do to make the world fear her, and not the other way around.

She was practically his daughter. Perhaps that was how he’s treated her.

And then hasn’t been watching closely enough.

And he couldn’t kill her, though should have. He should have cut her throat, so that no other Whaler could even think of betraying him like that.

He couldn’t do it.

Billie thought him too soft, and surely the rest thought the same, now.

Daud wanted to run off to the waterway, where the Wrenhaven met the sea, but couldn’t let himself now. He came down into his work corner and called Thomas; ordered him to clear the district of Overseers and check all the exits, strengthen them if possible, or, even better, block them all off, perhaps except one.

Now the government knew where they were.

If Burrows were to find out that Corvo and Emily were here…

Daud closed his eyes, clenched his teeth in anger and took a feverish breath. Now that Billie has run off he felt an urge to catch up to her and finish her. The urge flared up only for a moment before dying down, almost fearfully.

He couldn’t do it once already, and he wouldn’t be able to do it the second time. He couldn’t even picture driving his sword through her head.

“The heiress and the Lord Protector are alright,” Thomas told him, having appeared right at his side—Daud almost hit him out of surprise.

Daud nodded, and then found them easily, sitting in Corvo’s room. Emily was terribly pale, her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly, but her eyes remained dry. She was clutching Corvo’s hand tightly: the latter looked calm as ever despite all the blood staining him, as if everything happening didn’t affect him at all…

Ah, right.

Couldn’t affect him.

“It’s all over,” Daud breathed out, exhausted.

“I take it that the safety of this place is now heavily compromised,” Corvo said, and Daud wanted to hit him for talking about such things in front of a terrified girl.

“Not at all,” Daud gritted out in response. Though, of course, Corvo was right.

Daud wanted to lie down on the floor right then and pass out, just to clear his head from all the nagging thoughts. All the running-around tired him out so much. 

Daud left them and turned into the room which held his now desecrated shrine.

The canvas was cut with a sharp sword—a torn wound fell across the Outsider’s chest, the canvas’ edges akin to flesh. Daud clenched his fists, feeling a newly arising rage. The flowers were stomped and ripped out, only a bit was left somewhere under the ceiling. The shattered rune’s fragments lay on the floor, discarded. Daud bent down and carefully lifted four biggest ones, turning them over in his hands.

All he felt was anger.

Daud carefully pulled the edges of the canvas back together, but the tear obviously didn’t mend. He wanted to sew it up, but he had more important problems now.

“From the moment she met you, all she wanted was to be a killer.”

Goosebumps weaved through Daud’s skin; he raised his eyes to the portrait. It was enveloped by a smoky blue mist; Daud turned around and saw the Outsider in the Void that seeped into the world. Everything around them dimmed, illuminating only the god’s form. 

“Where were you?” he uttered, rude and careless, though in truth had no desire to backtalk and bicker.

“She watched you, learned from you. And then she saw you losing your grip, and decided to take your place.”

Daud leaned on the shrine’s tabletop. The mark prickled, and the sensation should have been calming. It wasn’t. 

“She’ll leave the city,” the Outsider went on, his voice running smooth as molten gold, the kind of sound that made you want to listen. “She’ll pay a smuggler to get her past quarantine. She’ll watch herself for signs of plague for a while. Gradually, the fear and grief that seep into your bones in Dunwall will dissipate, and she’ll find a new name and a new use for her skills.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Daud asked tiredly. He felt so ill he wanted to fall asleep right there.

“Once, you told me that she is your best student. You love her, Daud. It will put your mind at ease to know that she’s alive—somewhere.”

With a spent mind Daud thought that the Outsider knew him too well.

He felt sick.

The Outsider tilted his head and suddenly looked somewhere to the side, as if in thought. Usually when he spoke he looked straight on, so this was new.

“She will make an appearance in your life yet,” he said. “And she’ll play her role. But it will be a long, long time until then.”

And then he was gone.

Daud turned back to the portrait and almost choked on air. The stomped-out flowers took on their previous form, neatly spread out their small petals and breathed with velvety warmth.

Daud took it as a gift, and it was relieving.

At night, Daud couldn’t go to sleep. He checked the perimeter with the other Whalers, got rid of the remaining bodies and blocked many exits. Worry hung in the air, but physical work served as a distraction. All of the next day Daud roamed the floors in wolfish anger, the Whalers tensely silent and following him with their eyes.

Daud wanted to fall into the Void. Wanted to feel the frozen time, lie down on the cold stone floating in the endless blue, and think about nothing. 

But the Void wasn’t taking him. Daud was angry. He couldn’t feel the Outsider in the air, as if the latter completely turned away and was in no way interested in what was happening. But of course—he’s already watched the main show.

Only by noon Daud washed his face, scrubbed his mackintosh clean of blood, fully caught his breath, but still couldn’t sleep. Until evening he just walked around, trying to fill his thoughts with something neutral, but nothing worked. He kept thinking about what the Outsider had said about Billie. Doubts gnawed away at his bones—was he right in having let her go, just like that? And where did he go wrong, now that Billie had turned away from him, cozied up to a witch and had wanted to kill him?

When the sun set Daud returned to his bedroom. He saw Corvo downstairs, didn’t bother calling him, but the latter suddenly went up to him himself.

“Wasn’t expecting you to attack the Overseers,” Daud quietly said. The rigid bed beckoned him, heavy exhaustion fell on his shoulders and he very much wanted to submit to it.

“I had to protect Emily,” replied Corvo. “They were sure that I wasn’t a threat, since I’m Tranquil. I decided to take advantage of this delusion.”

“Very successfully, I must say,” Daud replied with a smirk.

“I know.”

“How is Her Highness feeling?”

“She already went to bed,” Corvo said, and Daud heard softness in his voice. 

He should send Corvo back to her. Emily was already having nightmares, as far as Daud knew. After everything that’s happened today she’d hardly be happy if she woke up from fear and found herself alone.

But instead of that Daud looked at Corvo carefully, his mouth went dry, and his fingers turned cold in his gloves.

“Stay,” he said. “For the night.”

Corvo carefully looked back at him. Daud, in return, looked at his brand that so strongly pulled eyes towards itself.

Daud thought, he’d refuse. Would say that this was unreasonable and didn’t make sense, and would leave. But Corvo suddenly began unbuttoning his coat, and Daud’s stomach dropped. He froze, watching how Corvo shed his clothes and left them on the back of a chair, then took off his boots and lied down next to the wall on the narrow cot. Corvo settled on his side, propped his head on his arm and stilled.

By the Outsider…

Daud unclasped his baldric and weapon belts, put them loudly on the table. Then he took off his gloves and heavy mackintosh, unbuttoned the short jacket in a hurry, leaving himself in only the shirt.

He lied down on the bed—it was so narrow it was impossible to avoid contact with one another, and feverish heat along with goosebumps slithered down his back. Daud folded his hands on his stomach, and then, cold fingers touched his marked one.

Daud flinched.

He didn’t remember the last time he touched someone with no gloves on.

Corvo traced his mark with a fingertip. Slowly, unhurriedly, like he was savoring it, while Daud was trying not to drop dead. He persisted in keeping his eyes closed as his heart hammered in his throat. The mark didn’t respond to the touch of the Tranquil in any way. Usually it burned or prickled as soon as it came into contact with the Void or those tied with it. But it had no reaction to Corvo, and that was somehow unnerving.

“What’s he like?” Corvo asked, and Daud choked on air.

“Not like the Oversees make him out to be,” he replied quietly.

“I didn’t hear many Overseers in my lifetime,” replied Corvo, and Daud sighed. He wasn’t very good at describing.

“He’s like an ocean,” Daud voiced the first thing that came to mind. “When you look from the shore, you see just a tiny portion of the surface. But in reality there’s a whole mass of black water, and sometimes the sun plays off of it, and sometimes it reflects the leaden clouds.”

He swallowed, looking up at the sky through the hole in the roof. The night was unusually cloudless, and stars glinted in the sky. 

Daud felt the Outsider’s gaze.

The sky was watching.

“He doesn’t want people to sink in sin,” Daud quietly continued. “He doesn’t care.”

“Apparently, not about anyone,” said Corvo and once again touched his mark. Daud looked at him, blinked, and the world reflected from the Void, only Corvo was still its inanimate part.

“Apparently,” Daud quietly responded, looking at his calm face, lined with grey-blue.

Corvo probably couldn’t even see that Daud’s eyes were soaked in black when he was looking at him like this.

At least, he wasn’t saying anything.

Daud was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep. As far as he remembered, he could never sleep with someone else in the same bed. He was sure that sleep wouldn’t come, Daud didn’t have the luxury of trusting the world to such an extent, but in the end he didn’t notice how he nodded off. Corvo didn’t give off any sense of threat; it seemed that Daud felt that instinctually.

Living warmth nearby, as well as the calm heartbeat and breathing, lulled him.

Daud couldn’t sleep for long, anyway. He was torn into waking as if he got doused with ice water. He blinked rapidly, breathing through dry parted lips, stood up and pulled himself together. Dim stars were shining through the hole in the roof. Daud threw his head back and deeply pulled in the fresh air. It didn’t help.

The nightmare was so sticky and cold and would not let go of him. Daud tensely walked around the room, rubbing his face with cold fingers. He shook his head, looked at the mark of the Outsider (how rarely he saw it without the glove) and pressed it to his lips. It was his little ritual that brought superstitious comfort. Now it hardly helped.

Corvo, who’s been sleeping by the wall, woke up from Daud’s anxious pacing, and was now sitting and simply watching. There was the brand on his forehead. In the nightmare he had no brand, and Daud first felt a wave of relief, but then his insides tightened again.

He shook his head, quickly approached and yanked Corvo up to his feet. The latter flinched, but didn’t have enough time to say anything. Daud hugged him. Pressed the warm body to his and with effort waited through the pricking and momentary stilling of his heart.

“I don’t understand—”

“Shut up,” Daud responded a bit too curtly, and Corvo obediently bit his tongue. Daud exhaled a long breath, squeezing him tighter in his arms, pulling him closer, greedily inhaling the scent of his hair. Corvo smelled like dust and wax. “Be quiet, Corvo, just be quiet.”

Corvo didn’t argue. He didn’t return the embrace, either, seemingly too puzzled by the developments. Or maybe he simply didn’t see any point in it.

Daud couldn’t wrap his mind around it: did he really not feel? Did he really, after all the pain, not want for someone’s touch to not bring any more of it? His head groaned from these thoughts. From the stifling unresponsiveness, from the giant, thick, impenetrable wall of the Rite, from the brand on Corvo’s forehead.

Daud sucked in a lengthy breath, pulling away a little; then buried his bare hands in Corvo’s hair, raising his head, and pressed his lips to the abhorred brand, suffocating.

Corvo kept still and silent. Daud’s lips burned.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” he ultimately asked after some time.

“You won’t get it.”

For some reason, Corvo huffed: Daud thought he heard bitterness. But he just imagined it, Corvo couldn’t fell anything now, and it was so terribly exhausting.

He wanted to hit Corvo just to see something in his eyes. He wanted to tear the brand off his forehead, along with the skin, only it would hardly bring anything.

Daud let him go and took a few steps back, anxiously touching his lips with his fingers, as if in fear that they got burned or burst from the contact with the brand. No, everything was fine.

His heart beat in his throat, and the feeling was unpleasant.

“You’re wounded,” Corvo suddenly said. Daud looked at his bullet-grazed shoulder. Damn, he forgot about that. Though, it was just a scratch, it almost didn’t hurt, only, the blood that spread on the shirt looked frightening.

“It’s nothing,” Daud waved him off. Corvo tilted his head to the side. 

“Take off your shirt, it still needs to be cleaned.”

Daud parted his lips to object, but changed his mind right away and obediently reached for his buttons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: this is fine pt. 2**


	8. Chapter 8

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

    

Martin was nervous to see him, but didn’t really show it. Daud came down to the ground from the roof, stood next to him and began, without greetings,

“I want to ask for a favor.”

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he threw his gaze around the Hound Pits’ yard. “I’m listening.”

Martin looked very exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept in several days. He kept his eyes open with effort, and Daud understood that very well.

“Someone set the Overseers on my base. The heiress and Lord Protector weren’t hurt,” Daud added quickly, “however, seeing as you’ve almost become High Overseer, I would appreciate it if you hushed this whole thing up.”

He switched to a polite tone, as talking rudely with Martin was now somehow awkward. After everything.

“At least, until the Lord Regent is dealt with,” Daud added, seeing a shadow of doubt on Martin’s face.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said slowly. “But who could… ‘set’ the Overseers on you?”

“That’s no longer important,” Daud waved it off and quickly vanished out of his sight. Martin didn’t call after him. When Daud appeared on the roof, he sighed with relief. It was somehow calmer up here than down below. 

Daud managed to win over his feverish anxiety only when he returned to the base and saw that there were no Overseers, the Whalers were alright—and so were Corvo and Emily. Then he breathed out and called Thomas.

Billie had said something about the Brigmore witches. Daud has heard of the Brigmore manor: it was located further upriver, and getting there was possible only by water. Of their leader Daud’s heard, as he recalled, from the Outsider: the latter carelessly dropped her name one day, and Daud was left feeling like the Outsider strongly disliked something about her. It was strange—after all, the god loved to simply watch, liked sudden and complex turns. Perhaps Daud really did just imagine it. Delilah urgently needed to be dealt with, otherwise she wouldn’t leave the Whalers alone, as well the heiress, as long as she was here.

Of course, Daud’s heard something about the witches, as well. He was, in fact, even surprised that the Overseers didn’t lump all the marked together like that. The witches were tightly knit with the Void and somehow took powers from it without being marked. Now Daud was guessing that it probably worked due to the bond with Delilah. Just like he shared his power with the Whalers—Delilah was capable of something similar. 

Daud sent Thomas after information, to meet with the only acquaintance he could still trust. When Thomas left, Daud tiredly stroked the bonecharm on his belt as if that would help to calm down, and stared with heavy eyes at the portrait of the empress. He hissed out a sigh and reached out in order to tear it off and destroy it, but Corvo’s voice stopped him:

“Leave it.”

Daud flinched and pulled his hand back, turning to him. 

“Why?”

Corvo shrugged, looking past Daud at the portrait. He looked thoughtful. 

Daud felt a prickling on the inside. Could the Tranquil really ask for something, just like that? After all, he did not and could not have any wishes. 

It seemed to Daud like Corvo was looking at Jessamine with yearning. Or maybe he simply wanted Corvo to show real human emotions, at least something, even a faint glimpse. But of course that didn’t happen. 

“You do love her,” Daud uttered hoarsely, and Corvo looked at him with something resembling condescension.

“I can’t love,” he said. “I already told you once.” 

Daud couldn’t stand it anymore. He came up to him, caught him by the shoulders, pulled and, with a sharp turn, pushed him with his back against the wall. The other didn’t make a sound.

Corvo had cold unresponsive lips, and Daud didn’t see the point in this, but he, Outsider damn him, was just a man with a hard time of winning over himself. Daud held him by the shoulders, greedily pressed him to himself, and felt nothing of the Void from him. And that was both frightening and worrying. And wrong.

As if touching something that wasn’t there.

“I don’t understand,” said Corvo as soon as Daud pulled back and turned away from him, suffocating. “What was that for?”

“Forget it.”

“There aren’t any objective reasons—”

“Forget it, I said!”

Daud tried to push down the anger that arose out of nowhere, and couldn’t. Corvo, with his impenetrable face and the brand on his forehead, was impossibly irritating. To a point where Daud wanted to strike him in order to see on that beautiful haggard face at least something.

No, he couldn’t bring himself to.

Or, rather, he could. But then his conscience would eat at him, as it has in all these months. No need to give it any more reasons to gnaw Daud.

“Attano, you’re impossible,” Daud said, quiet and angry.

Corvo tilted his head to the side. He kept standing with his shoulder blades pressed against the wall, looking at him intently, and Daud wanted to plunge into the Void. The Void was not responding to the wish in any way.

“I am?” he asked. Daud gave a jerk of his head.

He wanted to hit Corvo so badly.

Instead, Daud turned away from him and left. Slipped out into the fresh air, stilled on the edge of the roof and took a deep breath. He flicked his eyes over the horizon, then noticed something nearby and froze as if something stuck him to the spot. He stared at the giant statue of the empress, about which he’d already forgotten. The statue didn’t look back, it looked somewhere downwards, but Daud’s breath hitched nonetheless. He’d often stood here in that half-year Corvo’d spent in prison, looked at that serene stone face and tried to imagine what would have happened had he refused the job.

The empress would have been killed anyway. Just not by his hand. And the responsibility wouldn’t have been his.

He wouldn’t have been getting Corvo out of prison, wouldn’t have been calling him to his bed and kissing him, so stupidly not having gotten hold of himself.

It was so wrong it was stupefying. What he felt. For Corvo.

Daud bit down on his tongue to the point of pain.

He knew he couldn’t afford to stall now. He had to immediately set out for Dunwall Tower, which would likely be akin to suicide. Lord Regent, probably mad with paranoia and fear, was hiding there now and would likely not reappear in the next couple of weeks. Of course, that didn’t mean that Daud was going to spend two weeks doing nothing but being miserable.

They were almost there.

But he also couldn’t leave Delilah to her own devices.

Daud once again inwardly appreciated the fact that the road to Wrenhaven’s mouth from the Flooded District wasn’t that long. He urgently needed to clear his head.

The coast here seemed steep due to the buildings that formed a literal wall by the ocean. Daud walked around on the roofs, looking for a spot where he could easily climb down and sit by the water. He had to walk some ways off for that: Daud almost reached Dunwall’s suburbs when he came down to the shore that, in this area, was sloping. Some old boat was pushed into the sand and lying upside down, wooden and roughly put together. Daud’s seen those in childhood: everybody made boats out of wood in Serkonos. Back in the day.

He looked around through the Void and didn’t see anyone else, only white seagulls above were very vaguely outlined against the backdrop of clouds.

The sky was heavy.

Daud bent down and lifted a large rock off the sand. First he twirled it around in his fingers, then put it down, took off his gloves, and picked it up again. 

The rock was rough and cool. Pleasant to the touch. Daud touched the surface of the bottom of the boat with his bare fingers, but didn’t linger lest he catch a splinter. It was rough-hewn, or maybe that was just how time affected the wood.

Daud threw the rock into the water. It hit the calm surface hard and went to the bottom. Daud inhaled, threw his head back to the cloudy sky, and suddenly saw the Outsider when he looked back at the water.

“You’re in love,” said the Outsider.

Daud flinched.

His voice sounded so soft and warm, almost fatherly. 

Daud couldn’t choose the right words, and here the Outsider dropped them so freely, as if they hid something that was remarkably simple and clear.

The Outsider floated above the serenely calm water, touching its mirror surface with the toe of his boot. He looked not at Daud but at the horizon, and yet Daud still felt his gaze on him. The Outsider was in front of him and looked in the other direction, but at the same time Daud could feel him everywhere. He breathed in the air—and breathed in the Outsider with it.

“How ironic everything is turning out.”

Daud wiped his face.

“Can you bring him back?”

The Outsider turned to him and Daud suddenly felt how the entirety of him concentrated in his body—the Outsider’s eyes began to shine incredibly bright. He was fully here, even moved his legs over the water in order to come closer, rather than float as frozen as an unmoving statue, as he usually did.

“Perhaps,” he replied. Sighed. “I did want to give him my mark. I thought it would be interesting to see you both wearing my sigil. Only, I was too late.”

“You have a wonderful opportunity to make up for it,” Daud grunted in response, and the Outsider shook his head, suddenly coming down to stand on the ground. Daud nearly jumped back. The Outsider looked wild and strange like this.

Turned out, he was almost a head shorter than Daud.

That revelation seemed simply astounding to him. The Outsider suddenly became so familiar and human Daud’s throat tightened.

“So it seems,” the Outsider agreed and walked around him.

Daud swallowed, turned around, and stared at his back.

He suddenly realized that he’s never thought about what would happen if he looked at the Outsider through the Void. He squinted and after a second opened his eyes wider to let the Void blanket over his eyes.

The Outsider chuckled—Daud went blind for a moment, cried out, rapidly blinked and pressed his hands to his face. When he could open his eyes again, he could once again see like regular people.

“Careful with such things,” said the Outsider with a smile. “You can go blind if you look at the sun too closely.”

Daud looked at him almost offendedly, but didn’t say anything. The Outsider, it seemed, was enjoying this.

“Take him by the hand,” the Outsider said, suddenly serious. “That way, I will find him by touch.”

The Outsider disappeared, leaving Daud to digest the received information alone. He walked along the shore for a bit longer, then came closer to the water’s edge, thinking to splash some on his face, but the Wrenhaven was dirty and smelled of the plague, carrying it all into the ocean.

Daud returned to the base, slipped passed the Whalers that were conversing in whispers about something, and right away went to Corvo. Emily wasn’t there. Daud looked around through the Void—the vague silhouette of the girl showed through the wall. It seemed she was nagging some Whaler.

Daud quietly went into the room.

Corvo was asleep.

Daud approached, carefully bent over him and touched his relaxed hand. Corvo didn’t wake, and Daud took the hand more fully into his, squeezed it slightly and stilled like that.

The skin under his fingers was pleasant to the touch, dry and cool. Corvo’s palm was larger than his; Daud realized with surprise that his own hand seemed small in comparison. The feeling was new.

His mark suddenly came aglow like heated metal, glimmered, and foreign black fingers appeared over Daud’s hand.

He almost jerked his hand back in fright, but right away the Outsider whispered to him that it was alright, it was him. The Outsider’s palm turned a normal human color, came into contact with Corvo’s hand, and then Daud felt that he needed to step back and move away.

The Outsider appeared fully, sitting on the edge of the bed, and Daud realized that it was a very long time since he’s last seen him like this. The Outsider who floated above the floor, theatrically spread his hands and talked in long beautiful phrases, was very distant and mysterious, like an ocean. But this kind of him, sitting sideways, watching with his head tilted to the side, with incredibly brightly shining eyes (Daud almost felt jealousy), seemed impossibly human. As if a star suddenly appeared very close—so close you could squeeze it in your hand.

“The Rite makes people invisible to me,” said the Outsider, leaning over Corvo. The latter lay unmoving, head thrown back. The Outsider casually brushed the hair off his face: the strands fell onto the sheets, and Daud felt like he was looking at a classical painting. His heart practically hammered his ribs from this comparison, he didn’t even know why. “Which is why I can’t simply bring back everyone,” he added, bent even closer to Corvo and his surely-cold lips touched the brand on the other’s forehead. The Outsider flinched, there was a vague sizzling, and black blood dripped from his lips—Daud’s never seen the Outsider bleed. The latter grimaced, pulling back, licked his burst lips and with his thumb smeared the sizzling blood over his forehead in the shape of the brand.

It looked wild, but Daud suddenly realized that he was able to sigh with relief.

“Why did you want to mark him?” he asked warily, and the Outsider turned his gaze to him. His eyes shone unbelievably bright, his bloody-black lips predatorily parted, and goosebumps slithered down Daud’s back. He felt hot, he reflexively licked his lips with the tip of his tongue, and the Outsider gave an arch smile. 

“I thought it would be interesting,” he replied. Daud didn’t expect the Outsider to begin to actually explain. “And for the same reason you can’t step away from him. I liked him.”

Daud didn’t know whether what he felt was jealousy or even greater astonishment. 

“We have a lot in common,” the Outsider informed and pointed to Corvo, “including this.”

“Somehow, that sounds wrong,” Daud responded. 

“You don’t like to share, I know,” the Outsider smiled. Daud didn’t even know what to reply to that: he felt an unpleasant scraping on the inside. “When he wakes, be patient with him. He will be frightened, the feelings he’s been deprived of will come down on him with the full force of their weight. It’ll pass, but he might be very sensitive the first few days.”

“You’ve done this before? Brought people back from… such a state?” Daud asked in a strained voice.

“I’ve had to. Just don’t scare him even more.”

He said that and vanished, leaving in his wake cold air that smelled of clean uncontaminated ocean.

Daud blinked, his eyes clouded over with black, and he stared at the reflection of Corvo in the Void. The surrounding world got lined with grey-blue, and Corvo appeared in it at last: clear, bright, flashy. Daud let out a deep and relieved sigh.

There. Now everything that was happening didn’t seem so wrong.

  
   

       ** _Corvo_**

    

Corvo’s never really thought that much about the Void. He’d had other things to worry about. But still he’d imagined it like a huge, boundless, and very clear sky. This sky had no borders or clouds, no down or up, and no ground you could fall on.

Now the Void crashed over him like a wrathful tenth wave. An icy powerful surge smashed into his chest and crushed his bones. This primordial force did not throw him ashore and did not leave him to die on it. Corvo was choking somewhere in its depths with no break or pause. And yet the Void was a mighty stream flowing through him, filling up his entire being, and energy and power rang inside him, only Corvo had no idea what to do with any of this. It was too much, way too much, as if about to spill over the edge.

Corvo didn’t understand how and why this happened. But the Void was charging at him like a hungry beast, tearing him apart as soon as it got hold of him again. It dug the thousand of its teeth into him, gnawed at him and licked him with its wide rough tongue.

A stone platform suddenly appeared below him. Corvo hit his shoulder and hip painfully, shuddered and shriveled up, hiding his face in his hands, pressing his forehead against the stone. Breathing was difficult. He felt miserable and utterly broken. Demolished. Now, all the thoughts he could previously calmly mull over slammed right into his temples from the inside, causing utter chaos in his skull, and Corvo realized he was crying.

The light seemed too bright. The colors seemed too pronounced: the blue of this place seemed acidic and burned the retina.

The air smelled of the ocean. Corvo squeezed his head in his hands, squinting to the point of seeing white flashes in front of his eyes so that the thrashing thoughts wouldn't tear it apart.

Suddenly, the storm in his head came to a still. Corvo raised his head, and the Void all around turned into an endless blue sky, and a silent giant of a whale swam overhead. 

Energy was now threading through Corvo like quiet, faintly rippling water akin to the mass of an ocean in calm. Corvo could feel the ancientness that came down on his shoulders. Here, in the Void, everything breathed it, so distant and decrepit it was scary to think just how short the human age was.

“Hello, Corvo,” said the deity, having appeared before him. The deity had a gentle voice, eyes black as the night, and a smile that barely touched his bloodless lips.

As a child Corvo liked to collect large conch shells on Karnaca’s shores and bring them up to his ear. Mother had told him he’d hear the ocean in them, and hear it he did. To this day he kept one of those shells, but it stayed in the Tower, in his bedroom, where he didn’t think he’d ever get to return again.

“Rise,” the Outsider didn’t change his soft tone, his voice resounded in his very bones, but Corvo dared not disobey. His legs could barely hold him, his tongue seemed somehow swollen and too big for his mouth, and his eyelids were sticky and wet. “It’s good to finally meet you, Corvo.”

His name sounded so sweet on those lips it sent a light shudder through him. 

“Don’t worry. Though, I know, it’s hard. For now. The Rite of Tranquility makes people invisible to myself and the Void. And I so wanted to mark you. Back then, in the prison.”

“Me?” Corvo dumbly repeated. His left hand was burned softly by a whiff of cold, he flinched and looked at it. A mark was slowly burning itself into his skin. Corvo swallowed, his mouth went dry, and he barely managed to go on breathing.

“I wanted to see two of my marked chasing one another,” said the Outsider. “Only, even I can’t foresee everything. I see options, Corvo. And the options are so, so many. Who knew that this one specifically would come to pass? But it did. And nonetheless, here you are, before me. You can thank Daud for it.”

Daud.

Corvo took in a frantic breath.

The killer of his empress.

The killer who—

The killer who rescued him from the prison. Who saved his daughter. Who removed the “Loyalists” because they wanted to take the empire for themselves.

The killer cared about this world.

About Corvo.

Corvo recalled the way Daud looked at him and goosebumps ran down his back. His mouth tasted salty and sticky.

“However, now, I suppose, something less interesting awaits me,” said the Outsider thoughtfully. “But, something worth watching, nonetheless.”

He reached out, laying icy fingers upon Corvo’s cheek. A strong shudder threaded through Corvo, he recoiled from that hand, it was almost painful, but the Outsider didn’t let go of him. He heard the ocean in his ears, felt the salt of its spray, feverish heat burned his mark. Corvo froze in fright, staring into the black of those eyes that glinted wetly on the other’s slim face. 

“Welcome back, Corvo,” the Outsider whispered, and the Void rolled up akin to a scroll.

Corvo opened his eyes to the uneven wooden ceiling.

He pulled in a deep breath—and felt the Void.

He felt the Void with every flick of his eyelashes, and suddenly he thought that he’s never felt as right and whole as he did now.

Well, the feeling didn’t last long.

The memories crashed down on him again, sudden and stifling. Corvo pressed his icy palms to his face, pressed down on his eyes until it was painful, then pulled them away to look at the mark on the back of his hand.

Another brand, to replace the previous one.

Everything was too difficult and too much, but at the same time Corvo felt… good. He looked at the mark gifted to him by the Outsider and felt power. The feeling of helplessness and despair that half a year in prison ingrained into him disappeared, leaving in its wake merely memories. Corvo had a very harsh reaction to memories right now, but the thought that the past was the past calmed him. In the present he was lying in relative safety on a rigid bed, on his hand was the mark of a god, and everything would soon have to turn back to normal.

He remembered Jessamine and shrapnel exploded in his chest, piercing his ribs. Corvo froze, looking at the ceiling, feeling like he wasn’t strong enough to move even a finger. He remembered how she cried out—abrupt, more like surprised, when Daud backhanded her across the face. And how she didn’t make a sound when the blade entered her chest up to the hilt. He remembered himself screaming, losing his voice, out of powerlessness. And how from that powerlessness he wanted to scream for the six months afterwards.

Corvo blinked, brushed his fingers over his temple and found his skin wet with tears.

He stood up slowly, wary of his legs’ inability to hold him. He swayed slightly, his knees were shaking, but he quickly got hold of himself, walked across the room and carefully looked out into the hallway.

He found Emily in the neighboring room. Corvo saw her looking at the empty bookshelves, looking lazy and bored, and his insides clenched so hard he had no more air to breathe.

Corvo called her in a hoarse voice, but sounded so quiet Emily didn’t hear him.

Corvo made a few steps towards her, Emily turned her head to him, her eyes gave a strange glint as she looked at him very carefully and approached.

Corvo fell down to his knees before her and hugged _his daughter_ so impossibly tight, unable to contain the sobbing tearing out of his throat. Emily was at a loss at first, and then clutched to him, began muttering that he was acting so strange this whole time, that it was hurting her, that it was unpleasant and painful, that she didn’t understand anything, and her every word was turning Corvo inside out. He was pressing her to himself, hiding his face against her small shoulder, and shaking. He could only breathe on every other inhale, then Corvo felt how Emily began stroking his hair, and it broke him.

The feeling was wild, intolerable. Something behind his heart clenched so hard it was painful, prickling heat rushed to his head, and Corvo wanted to scream but couldn’t, the sound stuck in his throat, not tearing out.

When the first wave of emotions passed and Corvo could catch a breath, he kissed Emily on the temple, whispering feverishly that now everything would be alright, that he was begging for her forgiveness, that there was nothing he could have done.

Corvo leaned away and hurried to wipe his wet face. He was ashamed of his tears: it was Emily who was supposed to be crying instead of stroking him soothingly on the head. Corvo inhaled frantically and raised his inflamed eyes to her. She looked lost but calm at the same time, because she probably believed him—everything would be alright now. 

Corvo thought of how much she had to endure in this half-year. Thought of how she ran to him, seeing him for the first time in so many months, and he didn’t respond in any way because he didn’t see any point in it. He’d known she was his daughter, but had felt nothing, and for this he felt such unbearable shame, but now there was nothing to be done about that. He could only hope that she’d forgive, understand. And also that, at some point, all will turn for the better.

But could it? After everything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: I can't even begin to describe how many different emotions this chapter is bringing me, god**


	9. Chapter 9

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

    

Truth be told, Daud was expecting Corvo to look at him the way Emily did when he came to get her at the Golden Cat. He was expecting loathing and anger, an overt desire to kill, but none of that came.

In Corvo’s eyes was fear, only, of the kind that said he was scared of himself, rather than Daud. He was anxiously staring at the mark of the Outsider on his hand, breathing shallow and rapid through parted lips, and it seemed like the light spilling through the hole in the roof was too much for him. Corvo was squinting as if it was physically hurting him, was trying to hide his eyes, but at the same time, it seemed, he wanted badly to see the sky.

He was lost. The pressure of the returned feelings was too much. Daud could probably understand.

He understood and was afraid to speak with him.

And, it seemed, so was Corvo.

Their eyes met on accident from the opposite ends of the hallway: Daud greedily brushed his gaze over Corvo’s clean forehead and then lowered it to his hands, knowing that the left was now marked by the Outsider. In response, Corvo nervously turned away and went into Emily’s room.

Daud didn’t call after him, feeling like he had no right to meddle in his mutilated soul.

Besides, he had things to do.

Lizzy Stride was in Coldridge, Thomas had told him.

Coldridge. Again.

Daud rubbed his temple. With how easy it was to extract Corvo out of Coldridge, surely the guard force got strengthened to make it harder to get inside.

Oh, Daud so didn’t want to do any of this.

On the other hand, of course, Lizzy would be in his debt as soon as he got her out. That was exactly what he needed, but the mere thought of going back to the prison made him sick. Daud recalled the smell and shuddered.

He couldn’t find anything to do until evening: he’d have to go after Lizzy at night, anyway. The rest of the day he spent sitting by his shrine, but the Outsider was silent and didn’t even look at him. Maybe he was too busy with Corvo, whom he so badly wanted to grab for himself even before he was made Tranquil. Daud was almost jealous.

When the sky darkened over Dunwall, Daud began to prepare for Codridge. Before leaving, he gave in to impulse and took a peek into the heiress’ room, holding his breath, as if afraid it’d be loud enough to wake somebody. Corvo lay in bed with Emily, hugging her as tight as a cat would a kitten, with his coat draped over them both. Daud took a step back, closed the door and quickly left, so as to not disturb their peace with his presence. He felt that by watching them he was upsetting the unity. Ruining everything all over again, albeit it seeming that there was nothing else left to ruin in the first place.

Lizzy Stride didn’t take too much of his time; plus, she was lighter than Corvo, and carrying her wasn’t as taxing on his spine. But Coldridge was still as abhorrent as before. The security system was revamped but didn’t get much more difficult to get around: Daud took note of that right away and laughed internally. There were no Overseers or music boxes, so he finished very quickly.

With the promise of Lizzy’s support secured, Daud right away returned to the base and went to sleep.

A scream woke him up. He gave a start and sprung up, the mark flashed and burned his hand, but there was no one nearby. He looked around like a fool and then peered through the Void. Downstairs, two figures showed through the wall: Corvo sat on his bed, clutching his head, while Emily fearfully stood in the corner. That went on for half a minute, then she unfroze and walked up to her father, placing her hand on his slouched back. 

He merely had a nightmare.

Daud breathed out lengthily and sat back down on the bed, head bumping against the wall. He watched them for a few more seconds and closed his eyes, severing his gaze from the Void so as to not to intrude and invade their privacy. He felt he didn’t have the right.

Corvo will deal with everything himself. Without him. Without the killer that broke his life. He had a daughter with her unchildlike eyes to hold on to. 

Daud turned to the wall, pressed with his forehead against it and took a deep inhale, clenching his eyes shut to win over the temptation of watching them through the Void.

He couldn’t go back to sleep: he tossed and turned in search of a comfortable position, but that task was impossible in such a bed. He waited until morning somehow, then immediately went outside to get some fresh air before visiting the shrine where he plaintively looked at the Outsider. The Outsider didn’t look back, but the flowers were just as lush as before. That was calming—it meant the Outsider watched him now and then, after all.

Daud went back up and froze on the spot: Corvo was sitting on his bed. Anxiety squeezed Daud's throat, it was difficult to look at the man. At his clean forehead, without the brand. 

“I don’t want to kill you,” Corvo quietly said. His voice sounded tired and broken. “I should want to, but I don’t. I won’t be able to.”

Daud stayed tensely quiet.

“I dreamed of Jessamine,” Corvo went on, barely audible. “Her voice told me that killing you is the only way, but I knew her so well. If that’s really her,” he raised his hand to his face and looked at his mark. Daud also stared at it, and his gut tied into knots, and his own hand prickled with goosebumps, “then she’s just…”

_Upset, that she’s dead?_ Daud thought with an internal sneer, but, of course, said nothing.

It was difficult to speak, but he forced himself to.

“When I killed your empress and took her daughter—” his mouth went dry at once, and his fingers grew cold. Corvo raised his heavy gaze, and for a moment Daud saw a glimmer of fury in it, mixed with hatred. And that moment felt more right than everything that’s happened in Daud’s life in these past months. But, too quickly, it was gone. “—something broke inside me.”

Daud imagined how stupid it sounded to Corvo—a murderer talking about his feelings before a man who’s lost everything and has went through half a year of torture.

“Your remorse will fix nothing,” Corvo replied in a broken voice. 

“It can fix some things,” Daud argued carefully. “You’re here. Your daughter is here. We’re, kind of, working to put her back on the throne.”

Corvo rubbed his face and loudly, as if with effort, inhaled.

“I can’t give you back those six months,” Daud said slowly. Something inside him was shattering for the umpteenth time, the chips of glass dusting his lungs. He could almost hear the crunching. “But we can still bring your and your daughter’s lives back. And then you’ll never hear of me again, I give you my word. _I will leave Dunwall.”_

To Corvo, the word of a murderer probably meant nothing.

But he merely nodded.

And then suddenly said,

“Thank you.”

The words were like a bullet right between the ribs.

For a moment, Daud couldn’t breathe.

He fled onto the roof to clear his head, breathed a bit of fresh air, and then, having adjusted the bonecharms on his belt, set off on a task given by Lizzy Stride.

He still badly needed the ship.

When Daud returned that night, Corvo was standing in his work area and looking at the planks where portraits of targets covered the maps.

The biggest of the portraits was Jessamine’s.

A chill went through Daud when he realized that that was the only one Corvo was looking at: a graphite portrait, circled and crossed out with red. He saw Corvo’s shoulders shaking and his insides twisted with backbreaking pain.

Why hadn’t he torn all these portraits down?

He completely forgot. Corvo used to just walk past them, look at Jessamine’s crossed-out face, and say nothing.

Because he felt nothing.

Daud carefully called his name. Corvo flinched: his shoulders went rigid, and then he turned around. 

Corvo had big, wet eyes. Daud wasn’t sure anyone was physically capable of crying so much, but Corvo went off the charts. He also had every right. Looking at his clean forehead and pain-distorted face was so unusual. 

“I put her to bed,” he whispered. Corvo was wary of raising his voice: at first he couldn’t get a grip and would constantly slip into shouting. Daud silently nodded, now also unsure of being able to control his own voice. 

Corvo faltered, swallowing, then turned away and went upstairs for some reason. Daud followed, using the transversal to get there first and sitting down on the creaky bed. 

Corvo looked very lost and broken. He sat down on the bed, incredibly close, like he’s done a dozen times before. Only, now he could feel. There were too many feelings, it looked like: it was difficult to talk to Corvo now, he’d break into fits of hysterics too easily and had no way of controlling it (in fact, it’s always been unbearably difficult with him).

He had every right to cry as much as he wanted, with no outside judgment.

Corvo nervously rubbed the mark of the Outsider on the back of his hand, clenched it into a fist, unclenched it, then pulled in a loud breath.

“You asked me if I wanted to get rid of the brand once,” he whispered, his voice jumping and breaking off. “I said I didn’t.” He began to blink, fast and often, and rubbed his forehead. “Now I’d like to say that I never again want to be in such a s-state,” he stuttered, bit down on his lip and rubbed his mark once more.

“It won’t ever happen again,” Daud said softly. It felt stupid.

Corvo looked at him and, for some reason, nodded.

When he left, Daud tore down the portrait. The paper sounded too loud as it came apart in his hands. He raised his eyes to the ceiling so as to not watch the empress’ portrait turning into little scraps.

Corvo felt better after a few days. The tonal jumps of his voice lessened, he could keep a better grip on himself.

Only, at night, his screams were just as loud as before.

No one made a peep about it, although Daud could feel the Whalers’ anxiousness. He sometimes heard them talking, that, maybe, Billie was right. They always shut their mouths as soon as Daud came into their field of view, but for some reason he couldn’t care less about these sure signs of the fact that he would continue to face betrayal from his men.

Daud could understand Corvo, perhaps. All the piling-up emotions were projecting into the Void, reflecting from it, growing in size and significance and flowing into overly vivid illusions. Sometimes Daud would catch echoes of his dreams, clammy and cold as ice, something like waters black with plague you couldn’t get out of.

He knew how difficult and vile this was, and it was incredibly difficult to get rid of. Even more so with two marked sharing the same space, both of whom had trouble sleeping.

Daud never found himself in Corvo’s dreams, but he felt like it came awfully close, and it was wild and wrong. He was terrified of it happening one day.

One of these days Daud found him in the room with the shrine. Corvo was sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, hugging his knees, and looking at the flower-woven portrait of the Outsider. He didn’t pay heed to Daud, and the latter quietly approached and sat down next to him, practically touching Corvo with his shoulder.

“I never worshipped the Outsider,” Corvo whispered after several minutes of silence. “Looks like now’s the time to start.”

Daud huffed.

“And how do you imagine worship?”

Corvo faltered and shrugged.

Daud pulled a rumpled cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. He lightly bumped the back of his head against the wall, raising his eyes to the ceiling; breathed out the smoke. Here, next to the shrine, it looked especially unearthly. 

Without asking, Corvo suddenly took the cigarette from him, and took a drag. Daud didn’t object, but snorted at the sound of tearing out coughing. Corvo returned the cigarette and Daud doused the butt on the blade of his sword after he finished it.

The mark was warmer than normal due to the proximity to another.

It seemed Corvo could also feel it. He probably wouldn’t have held out his left hand to him otherwise. Daud, sparing either of them from unnecessary questions, pulled off his glove and took Corvo by the hand, intertwining their fingers. The sudden heat pierced right to the core, twisted the spine, practically forced suffocation.

Corvo was also out of breath. He flinched, clenched his fingers tighter and froze, as if in terror. Gradually, the overly sharp sensations dulled, softened, and now holding hands was simply pleasant. It gave a sense of a sort of unity and…

_And of home._

Daud exhaled, staring at the portrait of the Outsider with the wounded canvas. 

Suddenly, Corvo bowed his head and leaned against his shoulder, and went silent again. Daud closed his eyes and listened to his peaceful breathing.

The Void was flowing through them, and it felt right. That was how it should always be.

Daud felt how air itself turned its eyes to them, and sighed with relief. The Outsider was watching them out of the Void, his gaze surely glinting with curiosity. He didn’t show himself, but Daud could say that he knew his god well. At least, he knew how he watched.

Corvo stirred and straightened up.

His eyes were blanketed with the Void, and Daud held his breath. It looked wild: his eyes, now so alike the Outsider’s, seemed bigger than they really were. Daud blinked, and the Void filmed over his eyes as well.

It felt like staring at the sun that was suddenly way too close. 

Corvo cried out in surprise, flinched and turned away, hiding his gaze. Daud also couldn’t hold his grip on the Void and pressed down on his pained eyes, clenching them shut to the point of seeing flashes. The Void looked at the Void through reflections, and Daud didn’t even understand what it was that he saw exactly, but it was unbearable. 

Corvo was breathing heavily next to him. Daud peeled open his eyelids and at first panicked due to being unable to see anything right away: bright white haze stood in front of his eyes, through which silhouettes were appearing very slowly.

“We won’t do that again,” Corvo stiffly said. Daud huffed and nodded at first, but then remembered himself and answered out loud:

“Definitely not.”

Corvo laughed timidly.

Corvo had a beautiful laugh.

Emily didn’t look at Daud with wolfish anger anymore, and that was somehow reassuring. Daud tried not to run into her in the hallways. 

A couple of days later he decided that they could stall no longer. His Whalers kept noticing Overseers snooping around the district: they loitered right outside their fortifications, watching. It was unnerving. He didn’t know if Martin became High Overseer or not, but perhaps if he did, he might have been trying to keep them and himself safe. He might be sending Overseers in small groups of spies. 

In the end, after a couple more days Corvo was the first to mention the Lord Regent. He came up to Daud and declared that it was time. 

“Need to deal with Delilah first,” Daud tiredly replied, thinking that as soon as they returned Emily to the throne he’d need days just to catch up on sleep.

“Then, I deal with the Lord Regent, you deal with Delilah,” said Corvo solemnly.

“But—”

“No ‘buts’. The Lord Regent is my responsibility and my _revenge,”_ Corvo practically hissed out the last word, and Daud liked the determination and anger in his voice. “Delilah concerns you, not me. It’s all fair.”

Daud had to nod in assent.

“Alright,” he agreed, resolving not to argue further.

Letting Corvo go alone was almost… scary.

Daud ordered to find a pistol and a sword for Corvo, and when the man took it, weighing it in his hand, his insides went cold for a moment. He recalled how easily Corvo chopped off an Overseer’s arm in one precise motion. Just as easily Corvo could take his head off.

But Corvo merely fiddled around with the sword and put it back on the table. 

“In that case we move tomorrow,” he said, half-questioning, and Daud nodded. He took one of the bonecharms off his belt and handed it over. Corvo looked at him in surprise, but accepted the gift. The mark flared up for a moment. 

By nighttime the sky was covered with heavy, drowsing clouds.

Daud heard a creak of the door downstairs, then the footsteps he could recognize easily, and he froze in an uncomfortable position—stretched out on his back, hands folded on his stomach. Corvo wandered around the room, went up the stairs, stopped near the bed. Daud held his breath, continuing to pretend to be asleep. He heard fussing, realized that Corvo was taking off his boots, and something inside him gave a lurch so strong it was painful.

Corvo preferred to stay with his daughter at night. Daud saw them sleeping together once: they were holding on to each other like two cats, and Daud felt especially strongly just what he has robbed them of.

And now he came here, himself. Daud was afraid to breathe. Corvo lay down on the edge of the bed, shrunk into himself and stopped moving for a time. Daud’s hand began prickling. He was afraid to spook him, but he still needed to breathe. 

Five inhales later Corvo suddenly shifted and pressed against his shoulder. Daud turned his head to him, keeping his eyes closed; leaned with his forehead on his and felt warm, tattered breathing on his face. Corvo stirred: his marked hand covered Daud’s, and then a pulse shot into both their hands and all the way to the shoulders. Daud gave an involuntary flinch; so did Corvo, and they both froze.

“We have a big day tomorrow,” Corvo whispered hoarsely. Daud swallowed. By the Outsider, there was so much. Daud will go after Delilah. Corvo will go after the Lord Regent. For some reason, from this angle, out of this bed, the following night seemed so impossibly distant.

Half a minute later, moist cold lips touched Daud’s cheek, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

“Thank you. For doing all this.”

Daud hissed out an exhale. Now it was he who wanted to suddenly scream and burst into tears and hysterical laughter.

It was all so wrong. Corvo could now feel, Corvo was tied with the Outsider, and Corvo was now lying in the bed of the man who killed his empress. 

Daud wasn’t sure if there was anything in his life that could be more perverse.

“For some reason, now, everything that came before the Rite seems unbearably distant,” Corvo whispered, as if reading his mind. “I don’t… I remember how you killed her.”

Daud didn’t want to hear it, but he kept silent. He deserved it.

“I remember everything,” Corvo continued. “But I can’t find it in me to hate. Especially after everything you’ve done for us. I didn’t feel, but Tranquil have a good memory. And I feel now.”

“Good,” Daud answered, simple and quiet, unable to manage anything more. His heart was pummeling his throat.

“And you’re here,” Corvo whispered, even quieter. Daud thought he could drop dead right then and there. “You brought me back my daughter. And myself.”

“All that’s left is to give your daughter her throne back,” Daud whispered, and Corvo nodded.

“All tomorrow,” Corvo replied, and Daud mentally agreed. “Try not to die.”

Daud gave a curt hum.

“You too.”

He woke up from the sound of Corvo’s footsteps. The man was the first to get up and was now getting ready. Daud could hear him fussing with the pistol downstairs. He got up, pulled out a gas mask from the trunk and went down to him.

Corvo just finished with hooking the pistol and sword to his harness.

“Take this,” Daud said, holding out the gas mask to him. Corvo raised his eyebrows. “It’s better if they don’t see your face.”

“You kill without hiding,” Corvo huffed, but took the mask.

“I’ve always been a killer. You’re an escaped Lord Protector. If the Lord Regent sees you he’ll know which buttons to press. If it comes to that. Also, a killer with a hidden face always instills more fear.”

“Well, except you, of course.”

“Except me. I’ve already made a name for myself.”

Corvo hummed curtly and put on the gas mask.

He almost looked like a Whaler.

“It’s uncomfortable,” Corvo complained. 

“You’ll get used to it. Go already.”

Corvo turned away, but suddenly stilled and took off the mask. He pulled in a deep breath, brushed the hair out of his face. Then he turned back to Daud, very strangely narrowed his eyes, approached, and suddenly kissed him.

It shot right through Daud’s spine and painfully echoed in his left hand.

He couldn’t get ahold of Corvo. The warmth of the lips vanished just as quickly and suddenly as it appeared. Corvo put the gas mask back on and fled through the roof, leaving Daud with a hammering heart.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: Now that I'm on break I can finally finish this, woot. Merry Christmas**

  
   

       ** _Corvo_**

    

Returning to the Tower was…

Corvo stared at the familiar dock, to which he returned from a useless and exhausting journey around the isles half a year ago. He’d been on a boat: Captain Curnow had been sitting next to him, also tired and pensive. What happened to the man now, Corvo didn’t know. Back then, half a year ago, he sat in that boat and looked forward to hugging his daughter, then finally kissing Jessamine as soon as they were alone, and falling asleep afterwards with his head on her chest.

Instead, he watched how a cold blade pierced her chest, how she choked on blood and begged him to save Emily.

He shuddered at the memory.

Corvo remembered how he sat next to Daud, holding the hand that took Jessamine and his whole life away. He remembered how he kissed him before leaving. 

How stupid was that? Just how contradicting was he being to himself?

Corvo forced himself to cut these thoughts off. Later. For now—the Lord Regent. Corvo will be beating himself up for what he may or may not feel in relation to Daud and the rest of the assassins later. Later, when the throne is back to the rightful heiress, when he can lie down in his bed and for the first time in ages try to fall asleep in the palace. Then will he allow himself hysterics, doubts, and hatred. 

But that will come later. If he survives the night. 

The Lord Regent has set up fortifications all over the place, but their roofs let Corvo slip by without much hassle. He had to move slowly, lest the scurrying guards below hear his footsteps. 

Corvo adjusted the gas mask and started to the familiar place where he saw Jessamine for the last time. He had to stick to the bushes, since the courtyard was continuously getting lit by a tallboy’s spotlight.

As he climbed up to the top platform, Corvo stopped. In the familiar pavilion he saw a servant and a guard: they were talking about something with their backs turned to him, and Corvo quickly hid behind some nearby crates. He blinked to watch them through the Void. The servant was saying something about Jessamine, and Corvo closed his eyes, surprised to find that their images became even clearer. 

Soon, they left. Corvo waited for the both of them to walk a good distance off, looked around and quietly left his hiding place.

He halted in the gazebo. The blood has long since been scrubbed off, but he could almost see it still. There was a monument here, right on the spot where her body had lain.

IN MEMORY OF  
HER MAJESTY  
JESSAMINE  
KALDWIN

MOTHER TO EMILY,  
EMPRESS TO US ALL

A lump caught in his throat and Corvo clenched his eyes shut to get ahold of himself. He couldn’t give in to these emotions, he couldn’t drown now. He couldn’t even bear to look at the gravestone: his throat was so tight he couldn’t breathe, and he quickly turned around and hid behind the crates to give himself time to catch a breath.

His head was spinning, his eyes were bleary.

Corvo wanted to pull off his gas mask in order to rub them, but refrained.

He allowed himself to sit for a bit longer, unmoving and with his eyes closed; listening to the mad beating of his heart, feeling the scorching on his insides. He felt like he was about to burn.

He forced himself to calm down and transversed to the gazebo’s roof. His heart hitched, skipped a beat, and, startled, he sat down. The feeling was still very new. The Void kept flashing its thawed icy flames within him, and the sensation was utterly wild. It felt like he was getting thrown out of his body.

Corvo raised his eyes to the Tower. The beautiful white building was upholstered with iron that hid the window frames and balconies.

Corvo knew this Tower like the back of his hand. He’s spent twenty years here, learning by heart all the routes, entrances, exits. He knew how to slip from one corner of the Tower to another without being seen. But now, looking at the place that’s been his home for all these years, he felt despair and fear. The familiar hallways were full of guards, it wouldn’t be easy to slip by unnoticed.

Corvo thought, when everything went back to normal, it’d be a while until he’d be able to look at the Tower the same way.

He closed his eyes and squeezed in his hand the bonecharm that Daud had given him. The mark replied with a tingling, the bone’s edges pushed unpleasantly into his palm. Corvo shook his head, side-eyed the tallboy in the courtyard and slipped into the bushes. 

Entering the Tower through the front door was incredibly presumptuous, but Corvo did just that. He immediately darted on top of one of the chandeliers (it didn’t even tilt under his weight) and stilled. Corvo looked around the hall and felt a pang somewhere behind his heart. So many times he followed Jessamine up and down these stairs, so many times he held out his hand for her, so many times—

Corvo took a deep breath, his chest growing tighter with the anger that boiled inside him.

“There’s a disturbance in the courtyard. The men are figuring out what’s going on,” an officer said. Corvo saw that some kind of communications station has been established on the staircase, the screen showed the Lord Regent, and suddenly he felt wrung out with burning, suffocating hatred.

“Double the guards! Triple them! How many times do I have to say it?! Why is nobody following orders?!” he sounded hysterical and almost panicky, and for a moment Corvo felt good. He liked knowing that the Lord Regent was afraid.

“Yes, Lord Regent,” continued the officer, “we will make sure that nobody gets in.”

Corvo snickered internally. 

He waited for the guards to wander off and, when the hall emptied out, jumped down on top of the last one. Even without thinking, he stabbed into his back, along the spine. With such a force, the blade went in easily and came out with some difficulty, and Corvo staggered back, hiding in the shadow of a wall, breathing often. The blood splattered his clothes, perhaps got on the gas mask as well, and now it was spreading under the heavy body of the man who didn’t even get time to scream.

Corvo felt sick, he shook his head and stilled his shaking hands. This state of his didn't last long; he needed only to remember all the pain they’d caused him to clearly feel an excessive, overwhelming desire to kill. Retribution. Pain—for all of these guards, all the officers under the Lord Regent’s command.

Corvo shook his head, stepped over the corpse and clenched the hilt of his sword. He nearly ran up the stairs: a guard turned around at the noise, and Corvo took off his head. He too didn’t have time to scream. Corvo thought that he should somehow hide the bodies, but then decided he had no time.

He yearned to get to Burrows. As soon as possible. To kill him in a way that made him see Corvo’s face. To make him see just who took his life.

He’ll be fearing his thoughts later, after everything. Now, they merely gave Corvo strength. Made him push forward, nearly in plain sight. Corvo didn’t kill the servant he accidentally stumbled on, just stunned her and left her lying in the corner. Though his head was cloudy, he still distantly understood that his rage should be directed only at Burrows and those directly subordinate to him; the maid could not and did not do anything for the new ruler.

As it turned out later, avoiding servants proved incredibly difficult. One of them almost screamed when she saw a body, and Corvo hit her on the head in time, hoping that didn’t kill her. 

He worked fast, for his patience was running out. Having killed three more, he stopped in the service hallway when he heard a rune. He stilled in surprise, his mark prickled. Corvo went towards the sound—the closer he got the louder the rune rang. The volume gradually stopped rising, but the sound suddenly became deep, reached down to his bones, and Corvo’s teeth began to hurt as he went down the stairs. 

He halted, crouched, peeked around the corner.

He saw the torturer: his insides burned, and without thinking he pulled out his pistol and fired. The heavy body slammed against the floor; the wolfhound, which Corvo didn’t notice at first, woke up at once and sprung up on its thin legs, but Corvo oriented himself in time, and the beast fell down next to its owner. 

Corvo breathed out, slipped out of his corner, his body shaking.

This shrine to the Outsider was smaller that Daud’s, but was also draped with purple cloth and wrapped in barbed wire. The rune lay on the table, Corvo threw a glare to the torturer before taking it. It stopped ringing as soon as he touched the whalebone; the mark flared up for a moment, but the rune left warmth in his hand in its place. Corvo threw his eyes around the room as he took a couple of steps back, and thought how nobody had bothered to label the torturer a heretic and brand him Tranquil, even though the man hasn’t even been hiding it.

Corvo remembered himself making his way through the Tower in tattered fragments of red. Blood soaked his coat, made his sword occasionally slip out of his fingers. Killing turned out to be surprisingly easy. Cutting off heads, shooting, piercing sternums. The mark burned sweetly from how often he used it. His left hand was gradually beginning to hurt: the pain spread from the fingers to the shoulder, spilled over into his chest, but Corvo paid it no mind. 

He went up to the second floor, where he immediately stumbled on an Overseer with a music box—Corvo cut off his head. Sounds of footsteps rang all around him, and it was very unnerving. Of course, the bodies were discovered long ago; everyone already knew there was a killer in the Tower.

Corvo knew there was a secret room somewhere nearby. He remembered well how he used to hide with Jessamine there. Corvo quickly found the right fireplace: he hurried to tug the hidden lever acting as a lamp, and the iron shutter in the fireplace moved to the side, revealing the small room. He slipped inside, closed the shutter and sat down on the floor with a sigh. The room was triangular, and only held a table.

When he got enough time to breathe, Corvo took off his gas mask and wiped the glass eyes. Then he forced himself to stand up, wiped his hands on his clothes and glanced around the room. He found a piece of paper on the dusty table. Corvo picked it up and recognized Jessamine’s handwriting. He flinched and put it back down for fear of rubbing salt in the wound. But, in the end, he gave in. Jessamine wrote that she missed him. Corvo clenched his teeth and, just to drive the last spike through his heart, switched on the audiograph nearby.

Her quiet voice, addressed to Emily, spilled throughout the room. Corvo sat down again, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, listening. 

Ever since the prison he hadn’t given any thought to what his life may have been now, had there been no assassination. First, he was Tranquil, and then he had other things to worry about. Now Corvo listened to her voice and thought that his days would be just as the hundreds and thousands prior. How she would sometimes let him stay with her for the night, so he could kiss her in the morning.

His chest was scorching. Corvo pressed his palms to his face, catching a breath; then got ahold of himself, pulled on his gas mask, and, looking through the Void, went back out into the hallway, feeling empty and broken. He walked on, stepping over corpses, and came upon a wall of light. Then he went back into the hall, where he transversed onto the chandelier in the center, and then took note of the balcony above. He blinked over there, saw Burrows inside, mentally swore as he hid behind the wall, and then transversed onto the sturdy canopy over the bed. His throat was tight with anticipation.

Corvo pulled off his gas mask. Took a deep breath. And pounced, without thinking.

He dropped down on Burrows like a vulture, a sharp blade in place for claws. The Lord Regent yelped when Corvo fell on him and pinned him down with his weight, he started to thrash, but was yanked back and turned over, because Corvo yearned to look at his horror-distorted face. 

The Lord Regent’s eyes were wild enough already, but they widened even more when Corvo pressed his sword to his defenseless, open throat. Burrows screamed, but, of course, there was no one left to come running. Corvo gasped at the sight of despair in the eyes of the man under him. The man who realized he was losing everything he’s achieved.

Oh, Corvo loved to see that on his face.

Of course, Burrows recognized him. Of course, he noticed that Corvo had no more brand on his forehead.

The blade easily entered the skin, silently cut into it, and the blood splattered his face, got into his eyes; Corvo flinched, watching the life trickle out of the other’s body.

And nothing in his life has felt more right.

His heart pounded against his ribs so hard it hurt. The beat echoed in his fingertips. 

When Burrows stopped wheezing and froze, Corvo pulled back and fell down next to his body, nearly into the pool of blood, soaking his hair, breathing heavily. He closed his eyes, letting his sword slip from his fingers, lay still for a few seconds, and then a hysterical laugh tore out of his throat. A single, short one, at first. Then another. Seconds later Corvo burst into laughter, pressing his bloodied palms to his face—suddenly, he jerked, turned to his side, facing away from Burrows’ body and shrunk into himself, clenching his eyes. He was shaking.

He had to get up and run, immediately, but Corvo had no energy for it.

He ended up forcing himself regardless.

He rose. Glanced at Burrows’ corpse and went after the gas mask. 

The thoughts in his head were sick and feverish. Corvo will hate himself later—for them and the cruelty he gave in to in the Tower. But he couldn’t think about that now. He took out all his anger that’s been powerlessly locked in his body, and now he felt empty and broken, utterly lost, and didn’t know what to do.

He had to return.

  
   

       ** _Daud_**

    

Corvo was sitting on the floor by the shrine, leaning against the wall: he looked utterly wild, like a deadbeat, exhausted beast.

“How’s the Lord Regent?” Daud asked hesitantly. Corvo’s breath was loud and hoarse. He was smeared with blood: it soaked into his clothes and somehow even got on his face and hair, even though those should have been covered with the gas mask. 

“Dead. How’s Delilah?”

“Dead,” he replied and said nothing else. Nothing about the painting, Delilah’s plans, the fact that he, essentially, saved Emily. Corvo didn’t need to know about all that. Perhaps, Daud was punishing himself in this way. But he didn’t want to think about that too much.

In truth, when Daud uncovered Delilah’s plans, everything fell into place. She’d wanted to have Emily in her clutches, somehow found out (probably from Billie… who could have went to the witches right after Jessamine’s assassination) that both the Lord Protector and the heiress were with Daud—hence the attack.

Corvo nodded and pressed his hands to his face. Then shuddered. He couldn’t calm his breathing, and that was concerning.

Daud sat down on the floor next to him, practically touching Corvo’s shoulder with his own. He took the glove off his left hand and held out his hand. Corvo took it: Daud shivered, the mark prickled sweetly. Corvo’s hand was cold and slightly trembling. 

“It’s all over,” Corvo whispered, stifled, as if with effort, and then let out a hysterical laugh. “By the Outsider…”

Corvo’s breathing gradually evened out. He leaned on Daud’s shoulder, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Daud didn’t object. Corvo pressed closer against him, shifted a little, and suddenly wrapped himself around Daud’s hand, threading their fingers together. Daud closed his eyes.

The Mark grew warmer. 

They must have dozed off, sitting unmoving just like that, taking pleasure in the truest feeling of safety. Daud’s back and neck fell asleep when he opened his eyes, but he kept sitting still, since Corvo’s breathing was calm and measured. He looked peaceful, despite being covered in blood. Daud didn’t wake him. He sat for a few minutes longer, listening to Corvo’s breathing; then the latter stirred and lay down on his side, laying his head in Daud’s lap, eyes turned to the portrait of the Outsider. Daud, hesitating for a beat, put his hand on Corvo’s head and began to stroke the clumped strands.

“I killed almost everyone there,” Corvo whispered, quiet and frightened. He wrapped his arms around himself, looking small and abandoned. “I slit their throats, cut through their bodies, shot them in their heads,” his voice slid down to a barely audible whisper, and Daud almost held his breath. “Were the guards even guilty? They were just following orders.”

 _So was I,_ Daud thought tiredly.

“I just butchered them all, like—”

Daud tenderly brushed his cheek with his fingertips. Corvo suddenly clutched his hand and pressed it to his face. Tucked his face against a murderer’s palm, like a dog. Daud pulled the glove off his second hand and placed it on Corvo's head, stroked his hair.

“You have a right to be angry,” Daud said, barely getting ahold of his voice.

“And murder? No one can have that right.”

“You’re thinking too much, Corvo. Stop. You’ve done such a great deed today. Please, leave the self hatred and flagellation for later.”

Corvo took a deep and feverish breath, and, it seemed, took the words to heart. He relaxed under Daud’s hand and, soon, so did his breathing. Daud closed his eyes: he couldn’t fall asleep again, but Corvo was seemingly able to doze off.

When Corvo woke up once again, Daud took him to the river. Corvo didn’t want to go anywhere at first, but caved in as soon as he was told that his appearance could frighten Emily.

Corvo closed his eyes and didn’t move at all as Daud carefully scrubbed the blood off his face. Then he pushed down on Corvo’s shoulder, making him bend over the Wrenhaven’s water, and washed the dried blood out of his tousled hair.

Only then did Corvo unfreeze, blinking rapidly and squinting at the setting sun. He took a loud breath, stepped away from the water and tiredly sat down on the sand. He looked completely exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept in a week. 

Daud understood. He’d felt something similar after the assassination of the empress. After doing something significant, the great difficult goal disappears, and you get lost. That feeling is very difficult to get rid of.

Daud sat down next to him, folding his hands in his lap. Corvo wordlessly held out his hand, and Daud took it, suddenly realizing that Corvo was trying to make himself not feel lost. In the Void. And in the world in general.

“The Outsider hasn’t spoken to me anymore,” Corvo said quietly. He sounded almost a little disappointed.

“He rarely shows up, but you can’t shut him up whenever he does,” Daud softly scoffed.

Corvo scoffed tiredly in return.

They sat like that in silence, holding hands, until the sun set and the sky darkened.

Corvo didn’t stay with Daud for the last night—of course, he went to his daughter. Daud couldn’t sleep and couldn’t help himself: he watched them through the Void, wondering if Corvo could feel it.

And in the morning, at the barest crack of dawn, Corvo called him up to the roof and said, very quietly, as if something was troubling him,

“We have to go.”

Daud nodded. Corvo froze in indecision, then closed the distance and kissed him. Smudged and very brief.

“We won’t talk about this,” Daud uttered in a half-questioning whisper.

“No. We won’t.”

Corvo nodded. He smiled, hesitant and barely noticeable, and then turned away and went into the hallway, calling out to Emiily.

When they left, Daud found a child’s drawing on the table. Daud recognized himself in it: a crooked little man dressed in red, with a sword at the ready.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: The epigraph is taken from the song directly translated as “The Edge of Honed Steel” by Tam Greenhill. The lyric means “let the killer drink his fill of sincere tears’ bitterness.”**

      Дайте убийце вдоволь напиться  
Горечи искренних слез... 

   

   

Daud knew he wasn’t alone the moment he entered the room. He stopped, looked through the Void, and saw a man sitting on his bed, a glowing mark on his hand. Daud felt something tightening impatiently on the inside, like a spring, and he transversed upstairs, vaulted over the railing and stilled.

“Hi,” Corvo quietly said. It felt like they were still somewhere at the start of their journey, as if there had been no killing of the Lord Regent and almost a month’s worth of silence afterwards: Corvo was sitting on his bed, a leg bent under him. There was no brand on his forehead, and Daud breathed out.

He was happy to see him, why lie.

His heart prickled, tightened, and hitched his breath.

Corvo looked refreshed and well-rested—the return to the palace with a cleared name has brought obvious benefits. He trimmed his hair, so it looked neat and now he actually looked somewhat like a lord.

He looked a bit out of place in this den of bandits, now, only the mark still blackened his hand the same way.

“Hi,” Daud remembered himself and replied. He came closer, unclasping his baldric and putting it on the table, where Corvo left his weapons as well.

For people like Daud, disarming before someone was the surest sign of trust. And it was probably a huge step for Corvo, after everything that’s happened.

Corvo rose from the bed, leaving his coat there in a messy lump. Without it, he looked more defenseless and a little bit smaller.

Daud came closer, not knowing what to say, but no words were needed. 

Corvo smiled—it suited him so well—and kissed him first, placing his hands on Daud’s neck. It was just a touch of lips with no movement, but it was enough, and Daud felt a jolt along his spine, and his marked hand burned.

It was similar to his very first contact with the Void: new, frightening, wild, and at the same time so right, like the way it was always meant to be.

Corvo had warm lips.

And he was so alive.

Daud placed his hands on Corvo’s sides, rubbed them slightly, squeezed him in his grip on the inhale, parted his lips, and got a similar motion in return.

He pulled back, as it felt, too quickly—just to pull him even closer to himself, bury his face in his neck, bring his hands between the shoulder blades and squeeze him tightly.

Corvo’s heart pounded so hard Daud felt it through the thick layers of clothing. His hands moved, one of them clenching Daud’s hair, the other lowering to his back.

Daud took a deep breath—it smelled of the Tower—and wanted to scream, because this was too good to be true.

Daud did not deserve any of this.

Corvo didn’t move, only breathed just as heavily.

By the Outsider, this was all so wild, it simply shouldn’t be possible, but it was.

Daud opened his mouth to voice at least something out of all the tattered thoughts that thrashed about in his head, but Corvo cut him off,

“Don’t, I know what you’re going to say. Please, don’t.”

Daud clenched his eyes shut.

_I’m a killer I ruined your and your daughter’s lives I stripped you of everything I don’t deserve you you never deserved any of this how could you even decide to come here after everything Corvo you’re so impossible by the Outsider I love you so much_

“I forgive you for everything,” Corvo’s whisper was barely audible at his ear, Daud thought he might fall, it was a punch in the gut and in the back at the same time, it was too much and too painful.

“Don’t,” he replied in a quivering voice, and Corvo stirred, beginning to stroke his hair. The simple motions were enough to end him.

“No. You did everything for us.”

Daud didn’t answer, trying to swallow a lump in his throat. His eyes felt hot and wet.

“You’re impossible,” he blurted almost after a minute. “Attano, people like you just don’t exist.”

Corvo laughed, and Daud tried to get ahold of his breathing. He couldn’t. He was suffocating, and he loved it. Corvo was responsive and warm in his arms, and returned his kisses with heated lips.

Corvo stayed the night, and they sat by the shrine, surrounded by the overgrown hydrangeas, and Daud felt absolutely happy. They talked, hands holding and brushing each other’s marks, and Daud listened to Corvo remembering Karnaca, and realized with longing that he knew which streets he was talking about. And that he was also homesick.

Corvo didn’t come by very often. He was probably very busy and afraid to leave Emily, but even still he found the time to come to the Flooded District and take Daud by the hand.

Daud looked at Corvo lying in his uncomfortable narrow bed, and every time he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he kept returning here, that he trusted a killer’s arms enough to be able to fall asleep in them without nightmares.

Daud thought it was wild, and he understood that Corvo most likely thought the same.

It seemed, they began having the same dreams, but Daud couldn’t remember anything he saw. It was probably not important, he had quite enough sensations without that.

Corvo felt like home.

Daud had sometimes felt the same in the Void, although it flung him back and forth from the feeling of complete safety to impenetrable despair.

The Outsider had said that the Void reflected a person’s feelings, multiplied them and turned illusions into tangible reality.

Daud felt that all of this was too good to last for long, and, of course, he was right. At some point the visits grew more rare, and Corvo looked more pensive and tense each time.

And Daud understood. He said nothing, content with what he had, thinking that he didn’t deserve even a shred of what was happening between them. Not after everything he’s done. What he did to help afterwards seemed insignificant, wasn’t enough for forgiveness. Nothing could outweigh the killing of the empress, there was no way to erase it.

And he knew that one day it would result in Corvo wanting to end it all. To leave and never cross paths again, and this conversation inevitably came: one morning, after a night in the same bed.

“You said you’ll leave Dunwall,” Corvo whispered. Daud turned his head to him, holding his breath. Corvo pulled himself up a little, propping his head on his hand; he looked at him straight on, and Daud’s mark burned from his gaze. “Are you still going to?”

Daud took a deep breath. He didn’t want to think right now.

“I’ve thought about it.”

All of a sudden, Daud wished terribly for Corvo to tell him not to go.

That way he’d have a reason to stay. That way he’d be able to shed responsibly for this decision, stay in this half-dead stifling city that he’s drowned in blood.

Corvo was the only thing keeping him here.

This realization was frightening. He’s never felt tied to a place because of someone. It suddenly felt like a heavy collar has been put on his neck, tightened to the point of slight suffocation.

But Corvo said nothing. He just looked at him, very grave and somehow forlorn, and Daud thought that maybe he wanted him to leave. 

It was fair. Bitter and painful, and emptying, but fair. Daud couldn’t stay here, he had to leave Dunwall, leave the Whalers, leave the murders and leave Corvo. Daud would probably return to Serkonos and look for whalebone runes there. 

There were way more of them there.

Daud was a killer, and Daud did not deserve happiness. Not with the one whose life he broke.

Corvo stood up from the bed and began to dress. Daud didn’t stop him.

“I don’t think I’ll come again,” Corvo uttered, incredibly quiet, as if he was afraid to say it.

Daud sat up, closed his eyes, and quickly counted to ten.

It hurt.

“I understand,” Daud replied, just as quiet.

Corvo finished buttoning up and now stood in the middle of the room in indecision. He looked pale and almost a little scared. As if he really did not want to leave knowing he wouldn’t be coming back.

Daud’s insides were crumbling again. He never hoped for anything. Obviously. But loss was difficult.

He approached, and Corvo immediately grabbed him, pulling him closer; ticklishly buried his face in Daud’s neck, and Daud raked his bare hands into his hair, clenching very tightly, probably painfully.

_I don’t want to let go of you_

They stood like that for a long time. Daud listened to the other’s heartbeat, felt the embrace of those cold hands, and wanted to die—right then and there.

Death, however, wouldn’t come.

Corvo leaned back slightly and kissed him—tenderly. His marked hand cupped Daud cheek and the latter caught it in his, clutching the cold fingers. The mark prickled in response.

Corvo pulled away. He stepped back, hiding his eyes, and, after a second, vanished. Daud heard heavy footsteps on the roof.

He closed his eyes, clenching his left hand into a fist. The mark still prickled. Daud blinked and looked up through the Void: Corvo wasn’t in a hurry, but the distance made him almost indistinguishable.

“He’ll be asking himself if he did the right thing until the end of his days. You will see him again,” the Outsider whispered behind him. Daud blinked off the moisture from his eyelashes, turned around and practically poked the Outsider in his chest.

“Don’t you dare,” his voice quivered miserably, “don’t you dare say anything else.”

The Outsider smiled—somehow especially softly—and said nothing.

He disappeared.

An hour later, all the flowers at the shrine wilted.

Serkonos met Daud with the sun that played at the surface of the warm sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/N: Thank you so much to TheRisingValkyrie for letting me translate this! It was a real pleasure, and I hope I did this story at least some justice. <3**


End file.
